Harry Potter and the Chains that Bind
by patrick mcclellan
Summary: 6th year. Time magic. New teachers. Causality. Year 6 replacement. I continue JKR's characterization, and that means Harry is not a god, no one cuts themselves, there is no implied harem, there is no Mary Sue, Dumbledore/the Weasleys aren't actually evil. If you've read it, go ahead and write me a summary, if this isn't good enough.
1. Chapter 1 Abel Pays a Visit

**Chapter 1 – Abel Pays a Visit**

Privet Drive was a normal street in a normal neighborhood. It was lined with normal houses which were filled with ordinary people. They very much enjoyed being ordinary, which explained why they never had much use for Harry Potter. Harry Potter was a wizard, which in itself was enough of a reason for his relatives, the Dursleys, to hate him. However, it was much worse, for he was one of the most famous wizards to have ever lived. Even in the wizarding world, Harry was simply not normal.

One wouldn't know this by merely looking at him. Harry was a slim and rather unobtrusive-looking teenager with a shock of unruly black hair, small round glasses, and intense green eyes. The only thing that hinted that he was different was a small lightning bolt shaped scar high on his forehead.

At the moment, Harry was looking over the tops of his glasses and imagining that he was flying on his Firebolt, one of the most advanced racing brooms ever built. The summer so far had been hot and damp, and the car's air conditioner blew his wild hair back a bit, helping him dream that he was again soaring over the Quidditch Patch at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where he had spent the better part of the last five years. What he would give to be in the air once again! Headmaster Dumbledore had probably recovered his Firebolt, which had been confiscated by the hideous Delores Umbridge during the last school year, and he desperately wanted to be climbing and diving without having to think about what was going on far below.

He'd been shopping for some much-needed Muggle clothing, something that he'd finally been able to do after convincing his Uncle Vernon that looking like a prison escapee would eventually draw attention to them. He'd spent a significant amount of money, which he'd gotten by owling the Grangers and Dumbledore - He'd asked the Headmaster to transfer some of Harry's money from his family vault in Gringott's Bank to the Grangers, who had agreed to convert it to Muggle money and send it back to him, also by owl. Dumbledore had apparently decided that in the interest of expediency, he'd cut out the middleman, and sent Harry four fifty-pound notes with the comments that he hoped it would be enough, and Harry could arrange for reimbursement when he returned to Hogwarts. Harry could only sigh in exasperation. Dumbledore must have felt terrible. He knew the Headmaster was simply trying to help, but all the same he felt like a drug dealer. Up until then he'd never even _seen_ a fifty quid note before. There was no way he could tell the Dursleys about it, and when Petunia asked how he could afford new clothing and glasses, Harry lied and told them that he borrowed the money from the Grangers and Weasleys and would pay them back while he was at school. She didn't want to know a thing about the Weasley family, of course, since they were wizards and witches, so she had no way of knowing they were next to impoverished, and probably wouldn't have been able to scrounge that much up in a year. Harry had mentioned at some point that Hermione Granger's parents were dentists, so it was believable enough, as far as his aunt was concerned. When she asked how he'd get that much money, Harry told her he could make gold from lead. This was actually true; Harry could have made gold from lead with the help of a philosopher's stone, something he'd even had in his possession at one time, even if he didn't know the particulars of the process. His aunt, a thin, horse-faced woman, had no reply, other than a snort of disgust, but Harry thought that just for a moment she might be seriously considering how she could get the gold without the unpleasantries of the magic.

In spite of the tension, Harry was on his best behavior almost all of the time. This was mostly because he felt responsible for the death of his Godfather, Sirius Black, and had been very depressed and lethargic over the last three weeks. However, he'd also learned how important it was that he remained with the Dursleys because of the magic that protected him when he was in their house. On the days that he felt good enough to leave his room, he stayed well out of uncle Vernon's way, and Dudley seemed far too busy to bother with threats, instead focusing on the odd opportunity to torment Harry as the chances came. Harry knew that many of Dudley's old chums were heavily into drugs, but Dudley had discovered that it actually felt good to be in shape, and to Harry's dismay continued a rigorous training regimen that so far was producing a leaner, stronger, and more capable bully. On the flip side, his cousin was less physically violent after the "Mad-Eye Incident" at the end of the last school year, and more likely to simply lip off.

"What's that I heard last night?" Dudley had sneered just the other day, "more dreams about your girlfriend, _Seeeerius?_" Harry knew that he hadn't been dreaming of Sirius, or of anything else, for that matter, because the headmaster had somehow slipped a sizable bottle of dreamless sleep potion into his trunk, which Harry availed himself to every night. He didn't argue, however, and to his delight, that seemed to annoy Dudley more than nearly anything else he'd tried.

After what seemed like far too long, the car pulled into the driveway in front of Number Four, Privet Drive, and he and his aunt sat without speaking for several moments.

"We need to talk," said Petunia, without looking at him. Harry remained silent, staring intently at one of the joints on the garage door. The Dursleys and Harry had managed a slightly-less-than-civil form of mutual enmity, no doubt both aided and suppressed by Mad-Eye's very direct threat, and Harry didn't feel up to ending it with his legendary temper. He was too tired for a fight, anyway.

"I said –"

"I heard you. I just don't feel up to a row."

"That's convenient," his aunt snapped, "neither do I." They sat in silence for a bit longer. "Your uncle wants you out."

"No surprise there."

"I agree with Vernon."

"So do I," Harry shot back, "but that's not really an option, is it?"

"Those…_people_, those _things_, are they going to come after you again?"

"Yes. Eventually. Probably not here. I'm protected here."

"And what about us?"

"I don't know," Harry said, finally looking at his aunt, "it depends. If they've only been sent for me, I suppose they might leave you alone." Petunia noted that he didn't sound incredibly confident. "Have you talked to Dudley about last summer," Harry asked, "about the dementors?" His aunt's eyes narrowed.

"_No!_ And you won't either! Why should you care?"

"Muggles can't see dementors. It sounded to me like Dudley could see _something_. Maybe he's magic." Harry actually relished the last bit, wondering what would be going through his aunt's head if she suspected in any way that her son, her precious Duddies, was even slightly magical. He wouldn't have dared do that to Uncle Vernon, who might actually try to strangle him at the insinuation of magic in the venerated Dursley line. Petunia simply ignored it, as she had been prone to, as of late.

"Your uncle is traveling to France on a business trip next week." This was no surprise to Harry. He'd known since just after school got out.

"I'm aware," he said.

"We're going with him." Now this was a surprise.

"We…who?" Harry asked.

"Certainly not you! You need to write your…friends, if that's what you call them, and find a place to stay. I don't really care where you go. If you can't find one willing to put up with you, then you'll go to Mrs. Figg's. You'll not be alone in our house."

"Right. Just as well, I suppose."

"I suppose. I have…some things of your mother's. I expect you'll be wanting them sometime." She saw the look on Harry's face and continued quickly. "Oh, I'm not forgiving you for the hell you've put us through; If Vernon finds them, we'll all be miserable. I'd just as soon not have to deal with more of your trouble."

Things of his mother's? Harry had never even suspected anything could have escaped the night she was murdered by the evil Lord Voldemort at their home in Godric's Hollow. All he'd ever received was the invisibility cloak, and that was something Dumbledore had in his possession since before they had been killed.

"But why…How?"

"I hated how Lily was so special. I hated how she could just _wave _and do what had taken me an entire day! I hated that James, the arrogant prat. I hated how he thought he was oh, so wonderful! But she was still my sister. She'd still be alive if it wasn't for _him_."

Petunia turned the car off, and reached behind her for her purse.

"This doesn't leave the car. I can still make you miserable, and I will if you insist on causing problems," she paused. "And your uncle will destroy them the moment he knows about them. If you manage to remain _normal _until we leave, I'll make sure you get them, as long as I never see them again. The minute you act up, out they go."

Harry nodded, and Petunia went to inside, leaving him to take care of his parcels on his own.

He owled his best friends Ron and Hermione as soon as his packages were put away; most of them went directly into his trunk. As an after thought, he sent a letter to Lupin explaining the he may need a place to stay, and if the Burrow wasn't available, perhaps visiting him may be an option, and apologized for the short notice. He debated whether or not to write Dumbledore, and decided that he would, but later, after he heard from Ron, Hermione, and Lupin. He had nine days to find a place to stay. If worse came to worse, he'd take the Knight Bus to Diagon Alley and stay at the Leaky Cauldron. He didn't want to leave from someplace he was relatively safe for someplace he wasn't, even if he hated it with his aunt and uncle, but he didn't really have a choice in the matter.

For the next few days, he was content to remain in his room, as he had done the entire summer so far, and read some of the things he had neglected over the last few summers; potions in particular. The news of some of his mother's effects had temporarily lightened his mood, and he waited in anxiety for an owl indicating where he was to spend the last half of his holiday. Vernon Dursley was working fairly long hours this summer in preparation for their three week trip, and Dudley continue to remain mercifully absent, and when he was around, mouthy but non-violent. Only once did he hit Harry, a stunning blow that shook Harry in his shoes, and right away he seemed to notice that he'd done something wrong. Dudley didn't apologize, of course, but he turned a nice shade of white, and Harry had the wind knocked out of him for long enough to avoid hexing his cousin into oblivion.

His aunt had become addicted to soaps, and watched at least four every day, sometimes while taking notes in an attempt to discover some of their secrets before the tabloids. This naturally left her far to busy for anything more than the cursory snap, so things were looking slightly better for Harry than they had in a while. For now, he was thankful for the uneventful summer.

Three nights after his shopping trip, something brushed against Harry's face in the middle of the night. He waved at it, mumbling objections to consciousness in his sleep. Whatever was bothering him was persistent, and Harry swatted slightly harder. His fingers grasped at something feathery, and he felt a burning sensation and nearly leaped from his bed. Hedwig fluttered backwards, alighting clumsily upon Harry's dresser and hooting. Harry could feel blood run down his neck and soak the top of his enormous t-shirt; a Dudley cast-off. Had Hedwig really bitten him?

"What's wrong with you?" he whispered, and then stopped. He looked at the ticking alarm-clock, which read three o'clock in the dim light filtering in from the streetlights outside. Straining, Harry could hear noises coming from downstairs.

"Boy!" came Uncle Vernon's voice from outside his door. Previous summers had seen locks installed, but the Dursleys no longer used them for two reasons: The first was they were mildly afraid of Mad-Eye and the other "freaks," whether Uncle Vernon admitted it or not. Harry felt that his uncle had a good reason to be afraid. Not that Harry had ever asked to be treated as shoddily as he had, and not that they _didn't_ deserve what they'd gotten, but the Dursleys had certainly been on the receiving end of some interesting magical happenstance. The second reason was that after Harry's "escape" two summers back, Vernon decided that he'd rather have swift access to the room, should the need arise.

Harry's door swung open and his uncle peered in. Harry heard another noise from downstairs.

"More of your freak friends, boy?"

"No sir," said Harry, certain that the Order would have arranged a suitable distraction and Hedwig wouldn't have nipped him if she thought he was safe.

"Stay here. I'll have no funny business out of you. Keep your…that _thing_ put away! I'll not have another mess like you caused last summer!" Harry nodded and watched his uncle move slowly down the stairs. He desperately wanted to be armed, but tried to convince himself that because of the magical protections on the house, _more than likely, _it was a midnight refrigerator raid by Dudley, rather than an attack on him. It wasn't working exceptionally well, and after a moment, Harry tucked his wand into his waistband. A second later he heard a grunt of surprise, and glanced out the door just in time to see his Uncle's shadow upon the wall, tumbling down the stairs. There was another figure flying with him, and from the angles of his body, it appeared that uncle Vernon had grabbed him on the way down.

As Harry watched, two more shadows crept stealthily up the stairs. The one in front had what appeared to be a cricket bat, and the one behind, a short kitchen knife. Uncle Vernon had dragged one down the stairs with him, and neither had attempted to come back up. Harry looked to his right, towards his aunt's and uncle's room. Petunia was standing just outside the door with something in her hand…something long, thin, and distinctly _wand-like_.

"What do I say?" shrieked Petunia, nearly hysterical. Harry had to think for a moment to understand that she was trying to cast a spell.

"You can't use that!"

"What do I say? Tell me!"

"Point it at them. Say _stupefy_. It'll knock them out." Harry knew nothing would happen, but it would keep Petunia back from the men and might confuse them.

"Stupefy," she mumbled.

"You have to mean it!" Harry hissed, watching her shaking hand. "Concentrate on the tip of the wand…shore it up." She took another deep breath and shouted.

"STUPEFY!"

Still, nothing happened, but the dark figures in the hallway did pause right before Dudley's door.

"Mine's bigger than yours, mum," the one with the bat said, and Harry could actually hear him sneer behind his ski-mask. Dudley of course chose this moment to barge into the hall, sputtering curses and questions.

Had he looked to his right when he charged through the door, he'd have likely been knocked out cold or knifed as he gawked at his mother holding a wand and attempting to do magic. Instead, he looked left, probably expecting Harry to be the source of the commotion.

He was fast; Harry had to give him that. With a sweeping right hook, Dudley knocked the first intruder directly into his friend, to be impaled on the knife. The now-stabbed man in black dropped his cricket bat directly onto his foot, which Dudley snagged on the bounce. The hallway was not large, but Dudley was, and the intruders stood absolutely no chance of getting past him. He brought the bat up in an arc to the second intruder's knee, and then tossed it behind him, preferring to do his work with what he knew best. Three seconds and four punches later, both intruders were laying on the floor, one bleeding and both unconscious.

"Vernon? _Vernon!_"

Harry felt a tug at the back of his trousers, and his shirt was briefly lifted and dropped, and then his aunt shoved him roughly out of the way as she fled down the stairs, shouting her husband's name. Vernon's voice echoed weakly back up the stairs. He could feel something pressing against the small of his back, and realized that Petunia had tucked the wand in and hidden it. She didn't have to warn him again to keep his mouth shut; Harry knew that the first words out of his uncle's mouth would likely be accusations. Showing up waving a wand around (even worse, one his uncle may recognize as different) would probably be one of the poorer decisions he could make.

Dudley was more interested in the fools bleeding on his floor, looking curiously at one, as if he knew him. Harry stood behind him as his cousin pulled the stocking off the head of the home invader who hadn't been knifed. The crook awoke to the two boys leaning over him. Harry recognized him as Abel Greene, a one-time member of Dudley's gang. He was one of the first to get into drugs, and Harry hadn't seen him for a long time.

"Abel," Dudley spat, "what are you playing at?"

"Don't hurt us D! Some guy…he _made_ us!"

"Made you do what?"

"Made us break in. He said he wanted..." He trailed off, looking at Harry.

"And?" Dudley pressed. He apparently knew Abel too well to believe this was the only reason his former gang member was here.

"And that's all, I swear!" Harry knelt over Abel, placing his knee squarely on the fallen boy's trousers. Abel's eyes bulged and he sucked a breath sharply. Harry noticed he was missing a tooth or two, and he was pretty sure Dudley didn't do it.

"And skag. He's gonna set us up with a load of skag."

"Who was he?" Dudley demanded. Abel simply shook his head.

"What did he look like?" Harry asked, shifting his leg slightly. "You'd better tell us. You're in bad enough shape as it is."

"Short," he squeaked. "Short! Old. Blond. Fat! I don't know…he…he had a glove on one hand. Dressed like a nutter but…he had the stuff." Dudley leaned so close that Harry was surprised that he could stand the heroin addict's rotten breath.

"Who are the other two?"

"You don't know them…just guys from about." Dudley yanked the stuck man's mask up and glared at him. Convinced, he turned back to Abel.

"Do they know what you're on about?"

"No…they're just here to help er…"

"To help nick things?"

"Yeah," Abel replied, cringing as Harry shifted again.

"When the men come to round you up, _you don't know me_. Got it? You let on anything else and I'll make sure you never talk again…_We'll_ make sure." Dudley did a sort of backwards nod, indicating Harry. "_He's _criminally insane."

"Yes!" Abel squealed, writhing in pain. "Yes! I mean no! I don't know you! Don't kill me!""

"You're not worth killing," Harry said, "they'd just give me more time." Dudley grabbed a handful of Abel's hair.

"But you are worth…" He pulled Abel's head up and slammed it twice against the floor and then seized the cricket bat once again and leaned against it as he rose. He saw the outline of the wand in Harry's waistband and then looked towards the stairs. Petunia's voice was drifting up, along with that of a very groggy-sounding Vernon. Dudley looked once again at Harry.

"Right then. That goes for you too. We don't know him."

"And you won't say anything about them looking for me?"

"I'm going to France in a week. I'm not about to let _you_ spoil it."

"Right," Harry said, happy for once that Dudley was profoundly selfish, "that was a nice job."

"Well," Dudley yawned, "you've got your stick," he nodded at the bat, "and I've got mine."

Harry straightened up as Uncle Vernon came staggering up the stairs, leaning heavily on his wife.

"…Drug addicts and delinquents! I don't know what this world is coming to!" He leered at Harry. "Well, boy, it looks like you didn't get yourself killed. There's always next time, hey?" Vernon paused and looked at the bodies on the ground. "Are they dead?"

"No," Harry said, "I don't think so." Dudley had flipped the one they didn't know on his face, and the tiny knife protruded from low in his back. Harry didn't think the wound would be fatal if they got medical help sometime soon. Knowing his uncle Vernon as well as he did, he wouldn't bet on that happening. As the Dursleys surveyed the damage, Harry mentally prepared his letter to Dumbledore. He would have to send Hedwig as soon as he could get alone.

"Well _that's_ a pity." Vernon sneered and turned to his son. "Looks like you rang them up, eh son? Give them the old D-bomb, then, did you?" Dudley beamed proudly and his uncle went on. "I got one myself," he flexed, and it was an oddly macabre sight. The blood running down his uncle's head didn't do anything to make it less so. Vernon glared at Harry.

"Get back in your room boy, and when the authorities come, you slept through the whole thing. And what happened to your ear?"

"Huh?" Harry asked, before he remembered that he was bleeding. He couldn't tell uncle Vernon that Hedwig did it, so he simply shrugged. "I don't know, really."

"One of _them_ must have done it," Petunia supplied, "you'd better clean it out before you go to bed; no telling where that knife has been." Perhaps spurred on by the look from Vernon, she added "no use us being called on our holiday on _his_ account." Harry's uncle nodded and Petunia sped off, presumably to fetch antiseptics. She returned a moment later with a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, and some cotton swabs.

Later, after the letter to Headmaster Dumbledore had been written, Harry lay in his bed nursing his smarting ear and looking at Hedwig's empty cage. His wand was under his pillow, and he could still feel his heart surging with adrenaline. As his eyes grew heavier and heavier, he felt that Petunia must have been somewhat satisfied with his performance that night. He knew that somewhere in the medicine chest, they had a bottle of Iodine.

The next day, Harry received four owls, a phone call, and a visit from the police. The police were probably the easiest to deal with, because Vernon had already told them that Harry slept through the night before. Harry was certain that Vernon still thought him at least partially responsible, even though the police sergeant had mentioned Abel's considerable criminal sheet. To everyone involved, it looked as though the three youths were simply hitting homes to support an expensive drug habit. Harry had no problems whatsoever with letting Dudley get all the credit for foiling the break-in, he just wanted out of Privet Drive, and anything that would expedite that process was fine with him.

"Please, sir, may I be excused?"

"I see no reason to keep you," the sergeant said, looking at Vernon.

"Go on then, boy, and finish packing." That was about as civil as his uncle ever got, and it was his way of telling Harry that they were still going, and that he was still going, one way or another.

The first letter was waiting on his desk when he returned to his room. It was from Ron, and it read:

Dear Harry,

I'd love for you to come, but Mum says it's still not safe. She said that you'd be safer at Hogwarts or with Lupin. Don't get me wrong, I've tried to convince her, but she'll have none of it. She owled Lupin and Dumbledore, and you should hear from them by the time you get this. Honestly, she worries too much. Like You-Know-Who would ever come look for you here.

I guess it would be bad for us if he did, though, so you can't blame her.

Speaking of Y-K-W, the _Prophet_ hasn't printed anything about him for at least a week. Mum and the others are starting to wonder if something is up. Dean Thomas says some people are even more afraid of him now, after he's "come back from the dead". Ginny could do worse, but honestly sometimes Dean drives me nuts. If I were allowed to do magic, he'd have about six eyes and ten ears by now.

Are you ready for Quidditch? I've been flying loads, and I think we'll be even tougher this year, if they let you back in. Ginny is ready to give chaser a go, since we're losing Johnson and Spinnet. Fred and George promised they'd buy her a Cleansweep 11 like mine if she stays in. Who do you think will be captain this year? Katie Bell and you are both senior players, but Ginny said she'd mentioned in a letter that with her N.E.W.T.s, she'd rather play than captain. Do you have the time? I don't think I do. Do you think we can talk Ginny into it?

Well, nothing has changed since last week, so I'll talk to you later! Let me know as soon as you know where you're staying, because I'm certain mum will allow me to visit you then. Ginny says hello, and that she'll see you when I do.

Ron

Harry wrote wrong back a very short note saying that he understood Mrs. Weasley's concern, that he'd already caused quite enough damage as it was, and that he would let them know as soon as he knew where he was going. As he was finishing that up, the second letter arrived. This was one from Dumbledore.

Dear Harry,

Imagine my concern when I read your letter from last night! It would seem that our mutual adversary has finally decided to try something new. This is something I have long hoped against and prepared for. We have other accommodations for you. We really must talk about this more, but we cannot do so via Owl. Every letter of this nature we send puts our noble feathered friends, and thus our communications at risk.

I have found something of yours that you left behind last year. I'll see to returning in a few weeks. Until then I have included several chocolate frogs, which I know you enjoy, and I suggest you start collecting the cards. I'm on one, you know! It does gratify the soul to know I come with delicious chocolate!

A.D.

Harry collected the handful of chocolate frogs and thought about the letter. The old man was crafty – _very crafty_, and after their shouting match (or more accurately, Harry's shouting and breaking things and Dumbledore's string of admissions and apologies) Harry expected a good deal more information forthcoming from the headmaster. He knew some of it was here, but he wasn't sure where. One thing was for certain, Harry would be someplace near to Dumbledore, and that meant either Grimmauld Place or Hogwarts. He decided to think on it, and folded the letters together, placing them in a pocket on the lid of his trunk.

He packed his things entirely, putting everything he needed into his chest and closing it up good and tight. From now until he left, he'd wear clothes he could leave here, so he could go at a moment's notice. Hedwig's cage and his trunk, along with a book and his mother's wand, were the only things he needed to worry about grabbing now. After he was done packing, he sat back at his desk with _Staying Alive: Practical Defense Methods and Measures_, by B.G. Aegis, which he had mail-ordered last year, after he had seen it in the room of requirement, and read for a bit. Much of the information was spell-centric, and Harry couldn't practice it properly until he was allowed to do magic again, but much of it was spell theory that connected various aspects of defense.

Harry had discovered that this summer, it was easier to concentrate on the things like theory behind how all the magic worked. He didn't look forward to all of the classes that were likely to concentrate on the boring end of magic, but he supposed he was in a fairly good position to handle them. After five or so incredibly dense pages, he dropped the book into the lid-pouch of the trunk and sat at the desk, looking at his mother's wand. He didn't dare do much more than touch it, as an inadvertent magical shower of sparks could get him expelled, but it was amazing to touch something she had held, something she had used. The wood was much lighter than his, almost a blonde color, and it was a bit shorter than his as well. It seemed to be in reasonably good shape, even after years of disuse, and Harry intended to polish it properly once he could get someplace where he wouldn't get expelled for letting loose a stream of butterflies, or breaking something with an errant bolt of energy. He absentmindedly opened one of his chocolate frogs, and took a bite out of both back legs before it could hop away.

"I daresay that frog has been sitting on me for some time now, and I have a powerful craving for chocolate." A tiny voice squeaked up from the card, which Harry hadn't even looked at yet. "Is that…your mother's wand?"

Harry looked down at a tiny Dumbledore; he'd never known chocolate frog cards to talk before. Finally, he thought of something to say.

"Er…yes?"

"Amazing. I was not aware it still existed. Do be careful with it, until you get to us, won't you?"

"Certainly," Harry agreed. "I didn't know chocolate frog cards could talk."

"Normally, they can't, but our fine Masters Weasley are ingenious indeed. It's a pity they never applied their talents to their official studies. But at least they're happy, and we needed them, in their way." Harry said nothing as he looked down at the miniature Albus Dumbledore.

"I only have a few moments," the headmaster said, "are you certain it was Pettigrew who arranged the attack?"

"Yes. Greene said it was a short, balding man with a glove on one hand."

"That bears watching, but I shouldn't think they'd try that again for a bit. Even muggles like the Dursleys are too keen to not notice, and Voldemort really does hate muggles, even to the point of disregarding their usefulness to him. I would venture a guess that the latest attempt upon your life and limb were not directly orchestrated through him. I've arranged for you to travel to Grimmauld Place in two days. Hogwarts is normally the safer of the two, but there will be more members of the Order in London."

"Who will come get me? How will I get there?"

"Professor Lupin, Arthur and Bill Weasley, and one other will meet you the day after tomorrow, 10 o'clock in the morning, at your front door, unless you contact me and we arrange otherwise. Mad-Eye wanted to come, but he's rather more conspicuous, I'm afraid. Perhaps Miss Tonks will accompany them." Dumbledore paused, pensively. "Would I perchance be able to try a bit of chocolate?"

Harry broke a chunk off the frog and laid it on the card.

"Alas!" the little Dumbledore mourned, "I shall have to make do with the thought of it. Regardless, my time is nearly up. You may feel free to throw me away when I stop talking; I won't hold it against you. You have a few more cards, and they should be used, should you need to contact me before we can meet in person. They're activated when you open the package and are good for oh, two minutes?"

Harry nodded, and Dumbledore continued, though he did appear to be fading.

"It is good to see you well Harry. I'll talk to you in person in about a week." With that the Dumbledore card stopped talking and moving completely. He tossed it in the trash bin under his desk and piled the rest of the chocolate frogs into a paper bag, which he folded and placed under the table on the side of his bed away from the door. He kept one in his shirt pocket – the chocolate seemed impervious to melting anyway.

Just then, the third owl of the day dropped off a letter. It looked hungrily at the piece of frog on Harry's desk.

"I didn't know owls could have chocolate," Harry said, "are you sure it's okay?" The owl actually hopped up and down in its excitement, which Harry took as a yes.

"Well, if you're certain! You'd better drink though, it will make you thirsty." The owl obligingly flapped in and drained roughly half of Hedwig's water, and then hopped onto the desk and waited somewhat less than patiently. At least it had manners. Harry handed over the chocolate, which the bird greedily devoured, and then turned with a final _hoot_ and lunged out the window.

A moment later, someone knocked on his door. The Dursleys had developed a nasty habit of simply knocking and walking in (or even skipping the knock) up until a month ago, when his aunt walked in on Harry after he'd gotten out of the shower. Neither of them mentioned it ever again, but the Dursleys now paused for a moment after a knock to get an acknowledgment that Harry was decent.

"Yes?" Harry called. The door opened and Petunia came in. She immediately noticed how clean the room was.

"So some of _them_ have agreed to take you then?"

"Yes."

"When do you go?"

"The day after tomorrow, ten o'clock. They're people you've actually met…the Weasleys and…"

"Not the one with the…" she pointed to her eye.

"No, he doesn't blend in well."

"They won't show up…on _brooms _or something, will they?"

"No," Harry said, wanting to laugh but afraid to make his aunt mad when she was just about to hand off more of his mother's things, "they try to remain inconspicuous."

"It's a pity they aren't a little better at it," Petunia said, looking at the empty owl cage by his window.

"Yes," Harry agreed, quite honestly, "it is."

"I see you're packed then."

"Yeah."

"I'll be back in a moment. Don't go anywhere," she added, as if Harry was suddenly going to leap from the window and disappear. Well, in her defense, that _had_ happened before, more or less. She returned a minute later with a wrinkled brown paper bag.

"Remember, _not a word!_ And put them away right now, if we see them…" She didn't need to finish. "That goes for _that_ too." Petunia pointed at Lily Potter's wand, and Harry carefully wrapped it in a bit of parchment, appeasing her for the moment. Harry desperately wanted to see what was there, but he believed his aunt's threats, and he would be able to look at them as soon as she left. Petunia glanced at the clock and hurried out with no further words. Harry glanced in the bag, which contained a single small box and a pair of black gloves. He cracked the box open far enough see a small pendant on a chain. Harry let the box slip shut. The gloves felt soft and very warm; but he didn't dare put them on, because he didn't know what they did, so instead he put them and the pendant back in the bag and tucked the bag into his chest.

His curiosity momentarily sated, he turned back to the letter on his desk, which was from Remus Lupin.

Dear Harry,

The Headmaster as assured us that he contacted you; and so I'm assuming you'll know when we're arriving. If you haven't figured out, maybe you should ask him, the very next time you see him. We have much to talk about, but I think you know it's not particularly safe to do too much of that here. Make sure your relatives know that you're leaving, as we wouldn't want them to worry about you.

That's a joke!

I've been working on your present, since your birthday is coming up, and I'm pretty sure that you'll like it. It's something that took a long time to get right, and I'm sure if anyone can appreciate it it's you (and possibly Hermione). Speaking of Hermione, she wanted me to tell you that she couldn't owl you back, but that she's looking forward to seeing you. We all are. Until later,

Remus

_The very next time you see him._ Harry appreciated the hint. If this had been one of his worse days, he may not have even bothered with the chocolate frogs, but he thought that line would have said something to him in any mood. He was looking forward to seeing Hermione too. Summers were very busy for her, and this one seemed even more so than usual. She'd only had a half dozen chances to write him, and he was anxious to see her as well. There was a girl down the street who Harry had never talked too, who probably didn't even know he existed, who strongly resembled Hermione from a distance. Sometimes he would sit at his desk and watch her when she was outside, imagining that she was Hermione, and what it would be like if he could just go speak to her.

He never had, but he'd dreamt about it. As he pondered this, she actually came out of her house. Harry leaned back and watched the girl-who-was-not-Hermione as she took trash out of and vacuumed one of the cars in their driveway. She took quite a while, and he actually fell asleep before she had finished.

She was once again featured in his dreams.

When Harry awoke, Hedwig was back in her cage and the fourth letter of the day was on his desk in front of him.

Dear Harry,

Headmaster Dumbledore has told us about your incident, and assured me that you've discussed our arrangements as of this morning. Please be sure to be completely prepared, as you will be without anything you might forget. We'll talk soon.

Arthur

Harry was quite pleased that he would be out in two days. This summer had been, on the whole, one of the more tolerable that he could remember, but he could imagine nothing that would make him want to stay. For one, he wasn't particularly enthused about being around for the next attack. As much as Harry disliked the Dursleys, his presence in their home was now a danger to them as well, and the next time Wormtail may not pick such incompetent louts. As far as Harry was concerned, the Dursleys deserved some misery, but it wouldn't come because of him.

Harry checked his room at least a dozen times over the next three hours, looking over and over again for things that he didn't want to leave behind. He checked in all of his hiding spaces; under the floorboards, behind the wardrobe, and one of his new ones, behind the headboard of his bed. He checked the pockets of his clothes, even the ones he hadn't worn lately, which netted him a couple quid and some Muggle candy. Mostly, he did it for something to do, because of course after the first go around, each time he checked them he found nothing. At a quarter past eight that night, his uncle Vernon shouted up the stairs.

"Boy, come down here!" Harry obediently hurried. His uncle sounded mad, which was nothing new, and he was still trying to keep things moving as smoothly as possible.

"Your _friend_ wants a word with you. Maybe you should mention that we don't allow normal people to call us in the middle of the night, let alone those freaks you run with."

"I'll make a note of it," Harry said, taking the cordless phone and starting back up the stairs.

"Hello?"

"Harry!" Hermione sounded quite happy – even breathless.

"Hello Hermione. How's the holiday going?"

"It's fantastic, I've seen loads of new art, and I've even had a chance to meet with some old friends!"

"Old friends?" Harry asked. He was certain that there were friends of their family, but she'd been such a terror their first year that he had to wonder how many 'old friends' she could have. Then he immediately felt guilty for having such a thought.

"Oh, yes," she said knowingly, "you'll see!"

"I'll see? What are you getting at?"

"Are you ready for your birthday?" she asked.

"My…My birthday is a month away, Hermione. Are you feeling okay?"

"I'm just…excited!"

"Boy!" Uncle Vernon's voice echoed through the house.

"Did you get my owl?" Harry asked.

"Was that your uncle? He sounded a bit…dreadful when he answered," Hermione said. "And I meant to write you back, but then I got a letter from Professor Dumbledore that said to wait and I'd see you later. I asked Professor Lupin to tell you."

"He did," Harry said, "I'm going to be leaving the day after tomorrow."

"Oh. I'll see you sooner than you think, then," she replied. Harry hadn't expected this conversation to go so awkwardly. It was much easier to write letters to Hermione; talking to her made it hard for him to think. For some reason, all of the ideas that flowed so freely when he was writing dried up when he heard her voice. He realized that they had both been silent for some time. Hermione broke the silence.

"So, anything new?"

"Ah…" Harry decided not to tell her about Abel and Wormtail. He could tell her at Grimmauld Place. "I've gotten some things of my mother's; her wand and things."

"Wow! I didn't know there were things left."

"Boy!" Vernon roared. "What could possibly be talking about for _this long_?" Harry could tell by Hermione's pause that she heard it clearly.

"Yeah. Well then, I guess I'll see you later."

"Oh yes!" Hermione exclaimed, "I'll be there for your birthday!"

"BOY!"

"You'd better go," Hermione said, "I'll see you soon."

"Right then. Er…Good bye then?"

"Good bye, Harry."

For the second time in a day, Harry dreamt about Hermione.

The next day and a half couldn't pass fast enough. Harry stayed in his room nearly the entire time, only coming out when his Aunt Petunia yelled for him to come eat. He wasn't really hungry, and the best he managed was to stuff some down and push the rest around lamely, trying to make it seem as though he'd eaten more. Vernon and Dudley did their best to ignore him, and his final days at Privet drive were some of the calmest Harry could remember. It was odd, he didn't expect things to be so trouble-free when someone had just broken into their house and when Harry himself had so many overwhelming things to think about, but sometimes it seemed as if he was stepping outside his mind and he was on the outside looking in.

"Everything is cyclical," Professor Lupin had told Harry the last time he saw him, "the sun, the moon, and even human nature, and believe me, I know something about cycles. Things repeat themselves, over and over, and that's how it will be for you. I want you to pay special attention to your feelings, because _they'll_ come in cycles, too."

He didn't understand what his friend was talking about at the time; even if he wanted to think it over, he hadn't the ability. Now he was just beginning to grasp what Professor Lupin had meant, and he knew that he could be one of the cycles Lupin had warned him about. In this comparatively more rational time, Harry realized that there would again be a chance for him to think about Sirius and his part in his Godfather's death. At times, he had dreams that Sirius wasn't really dead, that somewhere, somehow they'd meet again. Sometimes he was furious with himself for allowing it to happen. Mostly, though, he was slowly beginning to accept that it had happened, and accept that more factors than his gullibility were involved. He was still angry with Dumbledore, and was even more so when he understood that what the old man had reasoned out all made sense, when you thought about it.

For now he was relieved to think of something besides Sirius, Voldemort, and the prophecy.

The first day of July was looking to be hot and nasty, and Harry was wearing a new pair of shorts that reminded him how skinny and pale his legs were. He'd never had much of an eye for style, or his image, but he felt that it would be nice if he were to put on some muscle, and tan up a little. He did little else but watch the clock the whole morning, although it was a long one since he awoke at six and was to excited to go back to sleep. Vernon was at work, and Dudley, the health club. Aunt Petunia's soaps didn't start for another hour or so, and there was little to do but sit and stare aimlessly. He'd moved his trunk downstairs, and Petunia allowed him to bring Hedwig's cage down as well. He went through the room one final time, which he knew was an exercise in futility, but it ate up another half hour. By nine o'clock, Harry had become totally bored; enough so that he went through his bundle of letters in the trunk and dug out his O.W.L. results and Professor McGonagall's letter. He'd never totally read them beyond glancing at his scores and reading far enough into the letter to discover that there was a new class being offered to certain sixth and seventh year students, including him. Petunia glanced at him while he read.

"What are those, then?"

"My test scores," Harry said.

"And?" It sounded to Harry like she asked more out of boredom than concern, but he'd made it this far being civil, and it had become a certain point of pride for him to make it out of the house without snapping at her for almost an entire week.

"Er…well three O's, three Es, and three A's."

"I thought you were supposed to be this _great_..." She couldn't bring herself to say 'wizard'. Harry didn't say anything, because he couldn't think of anything nice. Something rude about Dudley occurred to him, but he wisely held his tongue. His aunt looked pleased with herself, and left for the kitchen.

And then came the doorbell. Harry was up and at the door so fast that he even surprised himself, and threw open the door to a startled-looking aunt Petunia. He looked at her uncertainly; it _looked_ like aunt Petunia, except things were slightly off, as if her face had been broken into very small pieces, and then put back together skillfully.

"Hello, Tonks," Harry said. "Enjoying the trip?"

"Smashing," she replied, "mind if I come in?"

"Not at all," he said, turning to go back inside, "but maybe you should change into something more comfortable and less like Aunt…" He paused as he looked over his shoulder to see that she'd reverted to her normal face, except her hair was a shiny black.

"Why, Harry, are you coming on to me?"

Harry smiled and blushed, and Lupin and Bill Weasley appeared in the doorway. They were dressed in a reasonable imitation of Muggles, except for Bill's dragon-skin boots and Lupin's jacket. The jacket looked normal enough, but wearing one in July was a trick only a wizard or a delinquent would pull.

"Right then," Harry said. "Well, all my stuff is here and packed."

"Are those your test scores?" Lupin asked, momentarily distracted. Harry nodded and Lupin grabbed them, folding them and putting them in his jacket pocket. Petunia chose this moment to enter the room. Bill offered her his hand, which she ignored completely, leaving him blushing akwardly.

"Mrs. Dursley, pleased to meet you." Remus Lupin said. Petunia managed a nod with her lips crushed into a tight line of disapproval, and Lupin nodded back. Tonks favored her with a forced smile.

"Alright Harry," said Bill, recovering, "let's see what we can do about getting you out of her way."

Between the three of them, they got all of his possessions to the car in one trip, and his aunt shut the door so fast it almost hit Tonks, who was carrying Hedwig's cage. Bill and Lupin had the trunk, and Harry had his cauldron filled with supplies that he wanted out of or didn't have room for in his chest. He'd tucked the whole lot in a detergent box in case anyone was watching them leave. The car, an aging BMW, had no enlargement charms cast on it and they struggled to get everything but the owl into the boot. Hedwig glared at Harry as if she suspected he'd try to force her in as well.

"Not you," he said, "I'd never do that to you!"

Harry, Tonks, and Bill squeezed into the back, and Lupin took the front. Arthur Weasley was behind the wheel; apparently he was familiar with automobiles. As they pulled away from the curb the whole car breathed a collective sigh of relief.

"You _live_ there?" Tonks asked, only half-kidding.

"Yeah," said Harry, "I try."

"Any mental problems you could ever have, explained away in a minute," Bill added with a smirk on his face. Lupin managed a chuckle.

"I've been in there once," Arthur said, "why do you think _I_ stayed in the car?" Lupin was looking at Harry's test scores.

"What's this…_A's_? Harry, I'm surprised at you. I figured better."

"That Astronomy exam was a joke," Bill said in Harry's defense. "Ron told me all about it."

"You've gotten an 'E' in Potions. You need an Outstanding to be in Professor Snape's N.E.W.T. level classes."

"I know," Harry said, "I'm going to have to talk to Professor McGonagall. She's been advising me."

"What happened in Divination and History of Magic?"

"I had…a bad examination in History. Divination is, well…er…"

"Pointless," Tonks said, "and you don't need it or Astronomy to be an Auror."

"Well," Lupin added, "provided you really concentrate on potions, you should be okay - If Professor Snape will even let you in." It quickly became obvious to Harry that they were going to drive the whole way to London, so he settled back into his seat. Hedwig's cage was jammed between the front seats, and mercifully the car had air conditioning that worked reasonably well. Tonks yawned widely, and in a matter of minutes was asleep. Halfway through the trip, she slumped against Harry. He was acutely aware of it the whole way – how she smelled, how she felt, her slow, steady breathing. By the time they got to London, Harry felt very warm, even in spite of the air conditioning and his shorts and t-shirt.


	2. Chapter 2 The Noble House of Potter

**Chapter 2 – The Noble House of Potter**

The Noble House of Black had changed so much that Harry hardly recognized it. There was still a bit of the moldy smell, but the walls had been re-papered and the rugs and carpets were all freshly cleaned, while the wooden floors were scrubbed and deeply waxed. There were no cobwebs anywhere, the dusty drapes were now wrinkle-free and gleaming, and the chandeliers shone. Harry looked around in wonder.

"Oh, we've done a lot of work here," Tonks said, smiling proudly.

"Mind you," Bill said, "if I ever have to scrub another floor, it will be all too soon."

"_Mais_ you look so good doing eet!" Fleur Delacour appeared, seemingly from nowhere, and beamed at Harry, whose heart was getting a regular workout.

"You should see the library, Harry," Lupin said. "It's finally safe to enter again. There are quite a few books I'm sure you'd be interested in. They're not all legal, strictly speaking, but they have some good information regarding the dark arts."

"All the more reason for him _not_ to see them," Molly Weasley said, entering the hall from the kitchen. "Come. Harry. Let's get your things settled in your room. You can catch up later. Bill, Remus: Moody says he'll be late but that you should wait for him before you go." Bill groaned, but didn't say anything. Molly led Harry upstairs, and Lupin and Bill followed with his trunk. When they reached the landing, Harry paused, noticing something different. Bill and Lupin slid around them and continued up the stairs, talking quietly.

"No more portrait then?"

"Heavens no, Harry. It was only a matter of time before someone figured out how to get her down, and she's in a very dark corner in the cellar, now. With any luck, the rats will eat it, although I can't think of any vermin foul enough to be willing to deal with that rubbish."

Where the demonic portrait had previously stood there was now a slender pillar upon which rested a pinkish-white plant, with leaves that radiated out in stars. Normally, Harry wasn't a plant person; he did as well as could be expected in Herbology, but it was by no means his favorite subject. However, after the incident at the Ministry of Magic, he felt he owed those who had gone with him a bit more personal attention. He didn't know when exactly Neville's birthday was, but he knew it was near the end of July.

"Mrs. Weasley?"

"Yes, dear?"

"What kind of plant is that?"

"That's a Ghost Plant, Harry. Do you like it?"

"What's it do?"

"We keep it around because it's pretty. As for what it _does_, well, you meet the…ah…requirements to understand it. Tell me, do you know what a Thestral is?"

"You have to see death," Harry said, gazing at the plant. "What would it look like if I hadn't?"

"Oh, much the same, except watch…" She brushed a leaf briskly, and it fell from the plant. To Harry's surprise, he could see a smoke colored leaf remain behind.

"You can't see that if, ah, otherwise."

"Did that just hurt it?"

"Only a bit," Mrs. Weasley said, "because we can put this in a pot and it will put down roots and grow into a whole new plant. You do need to be somewhat careful with them, but they're not nearly so hard to keep as some other breeds."

"Could we plant that? How long will it take to get it to grow into a new plant?"

"I'm not sure, Harry, perhaps a few weeks. Would you like it?"

"I'd like to give it as a gift. Is that okay?"

"I don't know why not," Mrs. Weasley said, "I'll see to getting it potted for you. Let's get you to your room."

The portrait of former Hogwarts Headmaster Phineas Nigellus was still on the wall in Harry's bedroom, although even it looked somehow cleaner. Phineas was not in it when Harry entered the room, but he appeared as soon as Mrs. Weasley left and the door shut.

"Mister Potter." Harry looked up to see the dour-looking former headmaster peering curiously out at him. "I see you haven't removed me yet. I suppose it's only a matter of time?"

"I…don't know what you're talking about, sir," Harry replied. "I don't intend to remove you. And even if I did, it's not like I've got anything to say about it."

"Ah…then _he_ hasn't told you? Well, well." Only then did Harry realize that Lupin was sitting on his school chest.

"Let him be, Phineas."

"As you wish, half-breed. However, unless young Potter here has grown up a bit in the last few months, you may want to consider keeping things to yourself. Just some friendly advice." Remus smirked.

"I don't know if there's such a thing as friendly advice from someone who calls you 'half-breed'."

"Well," Phineas said, "maybe you should view it as less of an insult and more of a…fact?" The former Headmaster looked more carefully around the room, "One thing I can say for you, you keep a better house than dark wizards. They're always too busy taking something over to bother with dusting. The house hasn't looked this good in years!" He faded from the frame, still talking to himself, and Harry turned to Lupin, who was still resting on the chest, slumped forward with his arms resting on his knees. He then turned to his bed, which looked downright comfortable, although he didn't expect he'd be sleeping for quite some time, as that's all he had done for the last day and a half. He felt very much as if he could stay awake all night. He sat on it, facing Lupin.

"What did he mean by all that?"

"Harry, how grown up do you want to be?"

"I'm not sure what you mean," Harry said, looking at his shoes, which were new, and seemed oddly bright in the dim room.

"I mean what I asked. How grown up do you want to be? There are things we'd have to talk about, things that have happened because of Sirius's…er, what happened to Sirius. Do you want to deal with them now?"

"Well, I guess. Yeah. I mean, we can talk about some of them, right?" Harry glanced at the now-empty picture frame. "What was he talking about?"

"Well, Harry, Sirius was the last of the Black Line. There are a few distant relatives; Narcissa, Tonks and her mother Andromeda…but that's about it. They were an ancient family, as old as any other you could name. You know all this. What you don't know is that Sirius made certain that this house wouldn't fall into the hands of anyone like Narcissa, and he took care of the Tonks family suitably. He gifted some of it, more than he should have, really, to me and a few others. Still, most of what he had he gave to you."

"Me? But…er…what do I do?"

"Well, you don't do anything. You are still an underage wizard. It's held in a trust; in this case one very similar to that which fronts the Order, until you're of age. Still, you have the right to order us out, if you so desire. This is now the house of Potter. We can act in proxy, which is how we removed a few of the more unsavory elements, as you may have noticed with the portrait of Mrs. Black and Kreacher."

"I was hoping he was dead."

"You're better off not knowing. I can say you'll never see him again."

"What is there, besides this house?"

"Money. Quite a bit of it. Sirius took a decent bit to buy you that Firebolt, but what's left makes it look insignificant." Lupin paused. "Well, nearly insignificant. It was an _expensive_ broom."

"So, this is my house now?"

"It is."

"And," said Harry, ideas flooding his head, "does that mean I don't have to stay with the Dursleys anymore?"

"I really don't know. This house is safe, one of the safest in all England, but your aunt is still blood, and because of that you're still afforded potent magical protection with them."

"Didn't do much for Dudley's friends, did it?"

"There is that," Lupin sighed, "and we knew that could happen. _On the whole_, I think you're safer here, but we'll have to see what comes up."

"You'll have to ask Dumbledore, you mean."

"Yes. Harry, Dumbledore has done and seen more than most of us will ever dream of. He's not trying to confound you, I promise. He was just worried about you. Here you are, fifteen and having to be more grown up than any sixth year ought to be."

"Well," said Harry, "I don't really want to talk about that now. Someday I'm sure I'll ask you to help me more, if that's okay."

"It certainly is. For now, there are a certain number of things we'll have to do before you go back to school. You'll be fairly busy helping me recreate the protective runes, and such. The house will have to be acclimated to you. I don't know what buying a house is like in the Muggle world, but in the wizarding world, owning property is almost like having a child. It can be a place of sanctuary, but you need to protect it, you need to keep it in repair, in some ways, you even have to feed it. Do you see what I meant, asking you if you were ready to be grown up?"

"Yeah," Harry said, "but how am I going to help you place runes if I can't use magic?"

"You can participate in some of them without casting anything. The others will have to wait. Since the order operates in proxy, and it's technically there to represent you, you can designate a master of the house." Harry thought about this.

"Will you be returning to Hogwarts? Will you be teaching Defense?"

"No, Harry. You'll have someone else."

"Who?"

"I don't know. I've heard rumors that Kingsley may be doing it, but I'm really not sure if he's accepted the offer."

"Where will you be?"

"I'll have to stay here, I suppose. This is a convenient place to arrange for the financial and logistical needs of the Order. It's still hidden from Voldemort, and now that it's cleaned up it would be a shame to just leave it and go find some other place, wouldn't it?"

"I suppose," Harry said, "it does look nice." Lupin smiled.

"Sometimes, in the absence of any real solution to your problems, hard work is the best medicine."

"Do you miss him like I do, Professor Lupin?"

"Remus, Harry, Remus. And I miss him every day. If you ever need to talk about anything, I'm here for you." Harry shrugged, and Lupin continued, "I'm no Sirius. I'm no Dumbledore. I don't know that I'd rate a Neville in your world, but I'm here. One of the first rules of magic is to find something that works and steal it for your purposes. It works the same for people. Find one who shares your pain…"

Remus didn't need to finish. Harry nodded, looking at his shoes and letting the tears fall freely. He wasn't ashamed to let Lupin see him, because Lupin was crying too.

For the next two weeks, Harry helped Remus place and replace some of the protective wards. It wasn't defense against the dark arts, strictly speaking, but it was defensive magic, and Harry learned quite a bit. It was nice to see Remus wearing clothing that was new, though his tastes still bordered on very casual, comfortable looking robes that didn't look as if they'd cost a mint. He spent a good deal of time in the library, examining the many volumes that lined its walls. Lupin informed Harry that there were a few choice books still 'put away', and warned that Mrs. Weasley had put some wards of her own on them.

"They're still yours, Harry, and you'll get them eventually, but I wouldn't recommend taking them just yet. Mrs. Weasley can't keep them from you, but she can make things quite unpleasant."

Harry had no major disagreements with that, though he was curious as to what kind of book Mrs. Weasley would want to keep from him. His part for the wards on the library tomes was to touch them after Lupin had cast the necessary spells. They tested a book by slipping one into Bill's pack just before he left for work one day; the book wailed impressively and Bill came rushing back, swearing under his breath. They would do this for anyone but Harry, Remus, or someone they had expressly allowed to borrow them. Harry actually had to say it out loud for the rune to let them take the book without screaming. Lupin even worked up a biting charm that they started placing on the books late in the second week, and there were two or three that were set up to never leave the house, no matter who had them. They'd simply vanish and appear back in their spot in the library as soon as they reached a threshold. The external doors also had protection, but rather than howl, they alerted Harry to intrusion. Later, when he sat down to write a letter to Ron, he couldn't describe how they'd done it, other than just a _feeling_. He understood now how very easy it was for Deloris Umbridge to catch him sneaking into her office. As with the library, Harry had arranged to have the wards alert Lupin as well as him. He felt very comfortable knowing the last of the Marauders and one of Sirius's best friends would be watching what he still thought of as the Noble House of Black. Maybe they started off badly, but Harry could think of no nobler a person than Sirius, who had rushed to his aid without a second though after a summer of being pent up in a house he hated. Tonks had also nearly died at the battle in the Department of Magical Mysteries.

Two weeks into July, Ron came to visit him for the first time. His friend was wearing decent robes, which Harry was happy to see. He guessed that meant that Ron was finally too big for any of the second-hand robes that his brothers had provided in the past. He'd been taller than Fred and George for quite some time, and now could look his brother Bill in the eye. Harry knew he couldn't have sprouted up that much in a month in a half, so all he could guess was that Ron had been at it for a while and that he just hadn't noticed.

In spite of her promises, Hermione still hadn't been by, but she had sent an owl saying she would definitely be there for his birthday at the end of the month. Bill accidentally let on that he'd seen her at least once since they'd gotten to Grimmauld Place, and Harry pressed him, but he refused to divulge any more.

"Can't tell you," he said, "she's made me promise, and you know how she is. I'd likely wake up missing my mouth!" Harry did know how Hermione was, when it came to keeping promises, but he still wished he could have seen her.

He and Lupin talked a great deal, but there was actually very little about the Order that Harry found interesting. Most of the secret planning they'd been about last year was guarding the prophecy room in the Department of Magical Mysteries. No one had heard anything out of Voldemort for at least a month, so there was really nothing they could respond to. There were intelligence reports coming in that detailed the movements of known or suspected Death Eaters, but there was little Harry could do about that and he still wasn't allowed to see most of them. Most of the Death Eaters he didn't know, but the names he recognized came as no shock.

Lupin patiently answered every question Harry could come up with, but the problem was Harry couldn't come up with that many. Now that he had access to much of the information of the Order, he realized there wasn't much he still wanted to know. Lupin mentioned to him that he oughtn't to share most of the information, and that he was giving Harry more than he probably should. He warned that Dumbledore's promise to treat Harry as more of a grown-up didn't in fact create any great need for Harry to know most of what was going around internally; information not shared with many of the adult members of the Order. Still, his former professor made extraordinary attempts to keep Harry involved, sharing information every day, and asking for Harry's thoughts often. There was a report detailing the probable path of Wormtail when he hired Abel Greene to break into the Dursleys house, but he'd dropped out of sight after that happened, and hadn't been heard from again. The Dursleys were still being watched, even in France, though nothing indicated a threat to them now that Harry was gone. Perhaps even Voldemort realized how much Harry disliked his relatives.

Remus was right about one thing, though: Work was freedom. Harry was so busy helping with the protective runes and studying the books in the library that he didn't have time to think about Sirius, Dumbledore, Hermione, or anything else.

Three weeks after he arrived, the Ghost Plant was ready for its trip to Neville. Harry included a note apologizing for not knowing Neville's actual birthday and explaining what little he knew about the plant's uses. He was pretty sure Neville would know more about it anyway. Arthur took it to work with him, promising that he could get it delivered safely.

The Monday before his birthday, Ron and Ginny arrived to stay for the rest of the summer. Since Harry was less busy with the runes, he had more time to talk. They spent quite a bit of time on the first day catching up. The Cannons had made a decent run at the end of the season, which made him quite excitable, and the Irish National Team was looking to repeat their performance of two years ago.

Eventually, they got around to discussing their test scores.

"I couldn't believe I got an 'Acceptable' in Potions. Say, did you get a letter about the new classes?"

"Yeah." Harry said. "Will you be in it?"

"I've got no idea why. I wonder how they decided who's in? Have you read anything about it?"

"I looked in our library here, but all I couldn't find much. The book I found said it was as difficult as advanced Transfiguration. I suppose we'll have to ask Hermione if we want to know more."

"Great," said Ron, "but I only got an 'A' in Transfiguration. Why would they want me?"

"I dunno," Harry answered, "but they wanted me in it too, and I got an 'E' on my Transfiguration O.W.L."

"Well, I'll bet Hermione will be in it. Did she tell you how she did?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "Nine 'Outstanding' O.W.L.s, and one 'Exceeds Expectations'. She was quite upset."

"I don't think 'quite upset' begins to explain it," Ron laughed. "Breathing fire is more like it. She's threatening to appeal the Astronomy exam. She wants to retake it."

"Retake it?" Harry said. "I don't want another astronomy exam as long as I live!"

"Well," Ron replied, "that's Hermione for you."

"Have you…er…seen her at all?"

"What?" Ron asked. "This summer?"

"Yeah."

"I saw her once a few weeks ago. She was with Bill and Fleur. She, er, looks good."

"She hasn't come by here, and she said she would. I was wondering if she might be mad at me."

"What for? You haven't done anything to her, have you?"

"No," replied Harry, "not that I know of."

"I think she's just busy, mate. She should be here tomorrow."

"I hope so," Harry said, more to himself than to Ron.

"Me too," his friend replied.

When Hermione did arrive, Harry had to admit that Ron was correct. She did look good; very good, and he was left wondering how he could have possibly thought the girl down the street looked like Hermione when Hermione was so much prettier. The awkward silences carried over from the phone conversation, but she didn't seem to mind. How so much could have happened in two months, Harry had no idea, but it had.

He was left staring at her most of the time, and hoping that she didn't notice.

Ron was also correct about her feelings regarding the O.W.L.s. Harry made the mistake of asking her how she'd done, and she responded with a half-hour tirade that culminated with her plans to appeal the results of the practical Astronomy exam.

"Aren't you interested in retaking it? I know you could do loads better. You should get at least an 'E'!"

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "But the fact is, I don't care. I don't plan on taking it any more, anyway."

"It's the principle of the matter!" she insisted. "If I get them to re-offer it, will you take it with me?"

Harry recognized this as one of the times when friendship took precedence over desires, and bowed to the inevitable.

"Yeah, uh, sure. If they re-offer it. I may not try so hard this time, but I'll give it a go."

"Well, I think they owe us all a chance at it, I mean, come on! The ministry pulled that _audacious_ stunt _during_ the exam and then expected us to take the results without a fight? _I think not_!"

"Right on!" Ron added, half smiling. Ginny, who'd wandered in and dropped heavily upon Harry's bed, had probably heard this same speech from Hermione several times and from Ron at least once. Even so, she did her best to look sympathetic to the cause. It was hard to do when her mouth was so lined with chocolate that she looked as though she'd been eating dirt.

"Hang on," Ron said, noticing her glazed eyes and candied lips. "What's going on here?"

"Oh," Ginny said, "Fred and George sent loads of sweets to us. Didn't you know that? They're working on something that apparently generates large amounts of spare candy."

"_WHAT?_" Ron roared, more scandalized by this revelation than by his astronomy score.

"I thought you knew! They've been sending them back all summer. I got these from Bill."

"That cheeky…" Ron said, arising, "I'm going to go have a talk with him!"

"That's right!" Harry shouted as Ron stepped out the door. "Give him hell, Ron!"

Both Ginny and Hermione laughed, though Ginny looked slightly dazed, and Harry found himself wondering if there was such a thing as sugar poisoning. This thought was chased from his mind by the question of how exactly Ginny stayed so thin while single-handedly depleting the chocolate frog population of 13, Grimmauld Place. He looked closer at Ginny.

"You look good."

Ginny, who was covered in the remains of a frog-army and dressed in clothing that no self-respecting teenager would be caught dead in public wearing, Muggle or not, laughed.

"Thanks, Harry, but you're a bit late!"

"No," he said, "I mean it. I guess I've just never really looked at you before…you know, like, _looked_ at you."

"Well," said Ginny, rolling her large, brown eyes, "I'm glad you approve." Hermione was looking at him with a strange half-smile.

"You too," Harry added. "I didn't mean to ignore you."

"Are you going to tell me you've never looked at me, either?"

"Hardly," he replied, "I've looked at you loads of times." He immediately wished he could take that back, but Hermione blushed and grinned. Ginny watched the whole scene with a serene look on her face that suggested both mild amusement and slight illness.

Ron chose this moment to return, sputtering curses. He noticed the two giggling girls and a blushing Harry and stopped short.

"What exactly did I miss?"

"Harry being a sweetheart," said Ginny, who appeared to be enjoying the look on Harry's face as he blushed even more.

"With you _and_ Hermione? _I guess_ he is," Ron replied, eyeing Harry the way he had once eyed Crookshanks. "Move over, _sweetheart_."

"It's not his fault. Maybe you should try it some time," his sister said, with mock indignation.

"Well, I'm not naturally sweet. That's why I eat so many of them. Except in this case, Bill has hidden them."

"Oh no!" Hermione said, trying not to laugh at the utterly ridiculous situation.

"Oh, yes!" Ron shot back, oblivious to her sarcasm. "But I will find them, yes I will, and when I do, I'm going to eat enough to make a Welsh Green ill." They all laughed, and Ron, in spite of his exasperation, had to laugh with them. It was good to be back together, even if he didn't have any candy.


	3. Chapter 3 Speak, Friend

**Chapter 3 – Speak, Friend**

They spent most of the next day together, talking, or in Harry's case, awkwardly not talking. Ron spent a good portion of his time searching for Bill's elusive treasure trove, and members of the order came and went as they had for the last month. Harry found himself reflecting on how quickly the past four weeks had gone by. This had been the shortest summer with the Dursleys yet. So many emotions had overloaded his mind that he really didn't know what to think, even now. He was just happy that his friends were _good_ friends.

Harry's birthday elicited visits from Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Ron, Ginny, and Bill, Hermione, and Remus. Additionally, Harry received packages from Neville Longbottom, Tonks, and Professor Dumbledore. There was a tremendous cake, and a feast fit for Hogwarts. They all gathered in the formally dank parlor, which was now quite nicely equipped for any number of things. It reminded Harry of the Room of Requirement, when they had been running DA.

The first thing that Harry opened was a letter from Hagrid, which said that his gift wasn't ready yet, but that Hagrid hoped to have it by the time Harry arrived at Hogwarts. Harry felt that as much as Hagrid had done for him, he'd never need a present ever again, but over the last five years he'd learned how much of a point of pride giving a heart-felt gift was.

Next was the package from Neville, who couldn't be there but wished Harry a happy birthday nonetheless. In the box, there was a small jar and a note:

Harry,

Thank you for the Ghost Plant! It's fantastic! I had to read up a bit on it to figure out what it did, but there are certainly some amazing possibilities. I can't try any until school, obviously, but I'm waiting on some information from my friend Consera in Spain. She knows quite a bit about all kinds of plants and herbs, and a lot of the work that's been done with Ghost Plants is either Mexican or brought over from the Aztecs by Spaniards, so she can help me find it.

If you eat one ounce of this every week, it should help your eyesight, especially at night. It should taste pretty good; I've tried it myself, and I've eaten worse things on purpose. If you take a month's dosage at once, it should do amazing things to for your vision, but it will only last a few minutes. I don't know how well it will work, so I only made enough to last you until school starts. If it works, I can show you how to make more when we get back to Hogwarts. Don't worry about it doing something bad, my Gran helped.

I can't wait to get my new wand! Gran wasn't nearly as mad as I thought she'd be; she was more worried and proud of me. She says we'll buy it when we get my books. Maybe my magic will be little better then.

Thanks again,

Neville.

The bit about Neville's gran helping him did alleviate some of the concerns that immediately came to mind when he thought about ingesting anything Neville had made. He might even try it. To Harry's surprise, there was a gift from Tonks – a book called _Undercover! How to Hide from your Own Mother_, by Justin Neighmond. This particular volume was the special extended edition, covering going incognito among muggles. He hadn't seen Tonks for at least a week, and Lupin assured him that she was still well, but in the midst of an operation that required her unique skills. He said she should be back by the time Harry had to leave for Hogwarts, but he wasn't sure when.

Mrs. Weasley gave him a nice sweater with a Gryffindor lion, and Mr. Weasley gave Harry a pewter flask.

"I never properly thanked you," Arthur said. "I know it was you that alerted the order after that bloody snake…" Mr. Weasley pointed at the flask. "It's a Colibri," he remarked, obviously proud. Harry had no idea what that meant, but he nodded as if he did. Mr. Weasley went on, "it was Mad-Eye's idea. It's guaranteed to protect whatever is inside from nearly any curse or hex you can imagine." Ginny provided a well-worn book called _Seeking the Seeker_, which she claimed was very helpful to her when she had taken over for him last year. Ron gave him a book entitled _The Light side of Dark Magic_, by "Mr. J". The caption explained that it was a study of the light aspects of dark magic. Molly Weasley scowled, and Ron tapped the cover.

"Open it."

Harry did, and hand-written on the inside was a short note that said "Knowledge is Power; Fear neither – Mr. J". Harry thought that the something about the note looked familiar, but he couldn't put his finger on it. It looked as if it had the potential to be an interesting read, regardless. Ron was obviously particularly pleased.

"I found it in Diagon Alley, at Flourish and Blotts. They have loads that are autographed, but I think this was the best." Harry agreed enthusiastically; it was one of the better gifts his friend had given him over the years. Harry was mildly surprised that it had nothing to do with the Chudley Cannons.

The twins, though absent, had gifted him with a pair of dragon-hide boots that Harry appreciated dearly, but doubted he'd ever wear. They were a very soft black, and the note accompanying them said that Fred and George felt that they'd remind Harry of his triumph over the Hungarian Horntail during the first task of the Triwizard Tournament, and that "nothing kicked an arse quite like a dragon".

Hermione gave Harry a large tome of what appeared to be empty pages. He wasn't sure what to make of it, until she had Lupin take one of Harry's letters to her and place it face down on an empty page. He tapped it with his wand.

"_Fac Simile_." The letter immediately copied itself to the blank page, scaling itself properly to the size of the sheet.

"Impressive!" Ron gasped. "Where'd you find that?"

"Well, er…" Hermione stammered. Mrs. Weasley spoke up.

"Good heavens, dear, have some pride! She made it, Ron."

"How'd you make it without doing magic?" asked Harry.

"She 'ad me do ze magic," said a voice from behind them. Harry hadn't seen Fleur since he'd arrived a month ago, but he should have guessed she was involved. That would explain why Bill saw Hermione and Harry didn't. The tall French witch looked proudly at the book. "We make a good team, yes?"

"Er…" said Ron.

"Uh…" said Harry. Ron jumped and Harry realized that Hermione had kicked him in the shin. She probably meant to hit Harry, but missed.

"Yeah, you do. It's amazing, really. You're amazing. We're all…er…amazing. Um…can I go now?" Ron didn't leave, but he did turn several different, highly amusing shades of red. Fleur, being used to such reactions, laughed. She appeared to have mellowed out considerably since Harry had seen her last. He turned his attention back to the book, feeling slightly warm inside.

"_Delere_!" Lupin said, tapping the page. The letter on it vanished, and it was blank again. Lupin turned to the first page, which had the instructions on how to properly operate the book of letters in Hermione's characteristically neat, cramped writing.

"Thank you," said Harry. "It really is amazing."

Lupin dragged what looked like an old school chest to the table, apologizing for not having wrapped it.

"I did wrap a few of the more important things in it, however." Harry opened the chest and found it loaded with books of all shapes and sizes. Three packages sat on the top, each roughly the size of Hermione's book of letters. Harry opened the one on top first. It had no label, and was obviously a journal of some type. He flipped through it and saw page after page of complex magical procedures, until he came to one with sketches. A dog, a rat, and a steed ambled slowly around the page.

"This is…?"

"Exactly what it looks like, Harry. Those top three books are the condensed work of three long years from four very dedicated students. I, ah," he paused seeing the horrified look on Mrs. Weasley's face. "I don't know if I'd recommend trying it, as it is a bit dangerous."

"Not to mention _highly illegal_," added Mrs. Weasley with more emphasis than was probably required.

"Well, yes, that too. But I thought you might like to have it. Now you have something of ours…your dad, Sirius, me…"

Harry was genuinely touched. He wanted to cry, cheer, and swear, all at the same time. Lupin cleared his throat softly, and Harry looked up.

"I've already made copies of them, but if you'd like I can hold onto these for you as well. I know your space is limited at school."

"Thanks," Harry replied, looking at the nearly full chest, "but may I keep these three?"

"They are yours to do with what you wish." Harry could think of nothing to say, and so instead he embraced the older man, which Remus Lupin returned, only somewhat awkwardly. When he looked up again, Mrs. Weasley was holding another gift.

"This came from Professor Dumbledore," she said, handing Harry a small package wrapped in gold foil. Other than his father's invisibility cloak, he'd never received a present from Professor Dumbledore before, and he was somewhat apprehensive as he carefully removed the wrapping. It was Sirius's mirror; the one he had destroyed the year before. It was mended as good as new, and something was engraved into the bottom of the frame.

"_Speak, friend._" Harry read aloud. "What does that mean?"

"That's a riddle, Harry," Lupin replied. "It's from classic muggle literature; an area most wizards are sketchy on, at best."

"What's the answer?"

"Harry!" Hermione scolded. "I should think it would be obvious."

"Think on it, Harry," Lupin said, "and if you haven't figured it out in a few days, I'll tell you."

Harry again dreamed of Hermione, who was beginning to make regular appearances, though this time it was the real Hermione and not his unnamed neighbor. She _tutted_ at him for not figuring out the riddle.

"Speak, friend. Honestly, how hard _could_ that be?"

"I'm no good at things like this," said Harry in his dream. "You're the brain."

"You're over-thinking it, Harry. Why don't you try just doing what it says?"

"What do you mean?" he asked, as the Hermione in his dream began to fade into the mists of deeper sleep.

"The instructions are on the mirror. Speak friend! Try following the directions, for once in your life." That last bit sounded a little too much like Snape for Harry's comfort, but the way she said it gave Harry an idea. He sat bolt upright, then fumbled on the stand beside his bed for his glasses. A minute later he was sitting cross-legged on his bed with the mirror in his lap.

Harry gazed into his reflection in the silver mirror and took a breath.

"Friend?" The mirror felt as if it shuddered slightly in his hand, and a picture seemed to spin. A moment later, Dumbledore's face appeared in the frame. He was wearing a blue night cap with golden phoenixes that flitted about playfully, albeit somewhat sleepily.

"Ah, Mister Potter! I was beginning to wonder if I should have put the answer in with the mirror!"

"Hello, Headmaster," Harry said, at a loss for words.

"Hello, Harry. Perhaps tomorrow would be a better time to talk, when we are both awake."

"Probably," Harry thought, or said. He wasn't sure. He didn't even know if this was a dream or not. He didn't remember falling asleep again, he didn't remember putting the mirror away. The next thing he knew, he was staring at the newly redone ceiling, the grey light of dawn was streaming through the cracks in the drapery on the window. He tentatively opened the chest and lifted the edge of his new sweater. The mirror was beneath it, just as he had left it the night before. He wasn't sure that he wanted to ask Dumbledore if they'd spoken in the middle of the night; He didn't know how the old man would react to what could be the start of more dreams. One thing felt fairly certain though. He knew the answer to the riddle.

"Friend," he said, gazing into his own eyes. The mirror glowed blue, and then Harry was looking into the face of Albus Dumbledore. Something was odd about the man, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

"Hello, Harry." The sleeping cap was gone, replaced by one rather more casual than he was used to seeing. "I hope your birthday was acceptable."

"Hello, Headmaster," Harry said. "It was alright, er…"

"Given the circumstances?"

"Yes, sir. Thanks for the gift."

"I simply returned something that is rightfully yours," he paused, looking pensive. "First the Mirror of Erised, now this. Our history does repeat itself. In any event, I'm pleased to see that you discovered the answer to the riddle."

"I slept on it," Harry said. He could have sworn that Dumbledore showed a hint of a smile.

"There are a few things I wished to discus with you. We could do it now, if you so desire, or we could wait until you are here." Harry could make out some of what was behind Dumbledore. It wasn't any place he recognized. "Mister Lupin still has one mirror, and I have created a device of my own. Whenever you speak the word, we will both be alerted. Should anything arise which you feel is worthy of our attention, please do not hesitate to use it." Harry nodded.

"Can you alert me?"

"Yes, and no. When you use the mirror, the signal is obvious to us. If we need to alert you, using this, the letters on the frame will glow. We were naturally a bit concerned about others being overcome by curiosity."

"Naturally," Harry said. "When it comes to me they seem about ten times as curious as they ought to be."

"Ah, the shortcomings of human nature. I meant to ask you; have you given any thought as to which classes you shall be taking this year?"

"Well, Transfiguration. Defense. Potions, if Snape-"

"Harry…"

"…if _Professor_ Snape will let me. Charms. Then I wasn't sure of the last two."

"You were informed of the Temporalism classes?"

"Yeah. I forgot about that. That still leaves me one or two classes free, but I haven't talked to Professor McGonagall."

"Ah, yes. I heard of your arrangement. She thinks highly of you, or she wouldn't have offered." Harry said nothing. "Might I suggest something?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Might I suggest that you take one other class? Then you may want to consider that enough, to leave you time for other things. It is merely a suggestion; of course, you are free to do what you wish."

"What _other things_?" he asked suspiciously.

"Occlumency, for one. I still must insist that you learn to protect yourself, at least rudimentarily."

"Do you think Voldemort will ever try anything like that again?"

"Not like that, no. Now that you're both aware of the link and what it can do, I would be quite surprised to see him try the same ruse twice. You still must be protected; however, so this is not, I am afraid, optional."

"And you'll be teaching me, right?"

"I will consider it, if you insist, but Professor Snape is a bit more gifted in that area than I."

"Impossible." Harry said, shaking his head.

"Nonsense, my dear boy, it's quite possible."

"Can I continue D.A.?"

"Would you like to?"

"Yes. If I have the time. Will I?"

"You'll be busy, without a doubt. I believe D.A. serves a very valuable purpose, and I would be delighted if you would continue it. Did you find the room of requirement to your satisfaction? Was there anything you were lacking?"

"Yeah," Harry said, "good judgment. I let one too many people in." Dumbledore shook his head sadly.

"It is…a most regrettable thing. I do hope Miss Granger's jinx has finally worn off. We should thank heaven she isn't inclined to do such things more often." Dumbledore paused. "She isn't, is she?"

"Do you think we'd catch her if she was?"

"Ah," he nodded, "an excellent point." He paused again, looking directly at Harry. "Is there anything else?"

"Something has been on my mind – something about the house."

"Yes?"

"In the muggle world, if you're a criminal and you…die…they take your stuff. Why didn't they take Sirius's?"

"You may remember Sirius was denied the benefit of a trial. The Ministry can not seize your property without a proper trial, no matter how guilty you may seem. They were gambling on him dying in Azkaban, and in true Sirius Black form, he denied them the pleasure."

"Will everyone will know he's innocent now?" Dumbledore looked down morosely.

"The court of law and the court of public opinion are two separate things, Harry. The ministry, should they chose to seize his assets now, would have to try him posthumously. They would have no chance whatsoever of winning, owing in great part to the number of people who saw Sirius fighting bravely at the Ministry, and who heard the exchange... Still, I don't believe we'll ever truly clear his name to everyone."

"That's not fair!"

"No, it is not; but then, Sirius was never one to put extraordinary stock into what others thought of him, and he was very rarely concerned with what was fair. You knew he was innocent, and Remus Lupin knew, and I believe that is all that Sirius required." This time it was Harry's turn to pause as he thought on the headmaster's words.

"As much as I'd like to chat, Harry, other duties demand my attention."

"Can I ask you one last thing?"

"Certainly."

"Remus told me that no-one knew what Voldemort is up to…"

"And you would like to know if we are again 'protecting' you. It pains me to admit that it's a fair question for you to ask. Remus is correct. We expected something this summer, and the attack on your house proves that he is not totally inactive. I must admit that we've been looking for magical attacks. Only after I received your owl did we seriously consider Muggle attacks could be connected to Voldemort."

"But so far you've got nothing?"

"That is correct. Consider, Harry, why Voldemort used the dark mark. Sometimes, anticipation is a terrible thing. Is there anything else troubling you?"

"No, sir," Harry said. "Er…Thanks again."

"Thank you, Harry. You know how to reach me, should the need arise."

"I do, sir."

"Then I shall see you in a few weeks. Be safe."

Dumbledore's face grew larger and then the mirror again flashed blue. Harry was left staring at his own pale face. He hadn't given much thought to which classes he was going to take, and the realization had just now struck him that he didn't have any of the books he would need. He scrounged some parchment from his trunk and wrote a letter to Professor McGonagall, asking for any advice she might have. They'd have to leave for Diagon Alley within the next few days if they were going to get the proper books and supplies. When he was finished, he took his note in search of Hedwig or one of the other owls. He glanced into the room next door to find that sometime during the night, Ron had discovered Bill's stash of candy. He lay in the middle of a bed created from the wrappings of nearly every kind of sweet Harry had ever seen, curled into a ball and moaning softly.

"Overdo it, did we?" His friend looked up at him with eyes that spoke volumes.

"I don't want to look at another chocolate frog as long as I live!" Ron exclaimed, his tongue lolling comically from his mouth.

"Yeah," Harry said, looking at the small mountain of wrappers. "_That'll _last. Have you seen any of the owls?"

"Nuuuh."

"Right." Harry moved to the next room, which was Lupin's. It too was bare. The next rooms were in use by the girls of the house, and Harry didn't particularly want to pop his head in, so he returned to his room, placing the letter on Hedwig's stand where she would find it when she returned. He'd had never before heard of a literate owl, but Hedwig was generally good about delivering things on her own. That task complete, Harry wandered downstairs. As he reached the bottom step, a wailing echoed through the front hall. Someone was stealing one of his books.

A moment later, a very surprised looking Hermione Granger rushed through the front door, looking frantically about and clutching a struggling green book. Harry noticed with some delight that there were a few small marks on her fingers, which meant that the biting charms Lupin had placed on them had worked.

"You could have told me it would do that!"

"You could have asked to borrow it!" Harry shot back. He wasn't annoyed by her taking the book; he trusted Hermione implicitly, but her attitude did induce a flame of anger. What right did she have to take his book and then snap at him for calling her on it? None at all, that's what.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I forgot they were your books now. I borrowed so many last summer that I didn't even think to ask this time…but they've never done that before!"

"That's because you haven't taken any in the last three weeks. Remus and I put wards on them all. Some can't even go out of the house!"

"Well, the biting was nice," she admitted. "If I was allowed to do proper magic, I'd even show you a few tricks."

Harry had come to learn that Hermione's 'tricks' were nothing to be trifled with, and he wished she could do magic simply to see what she could have produced.

"Well, then, is there any way I can borrow these without them wailing like banshees and aiming for my fingertips?"

"Ah, sure," he touched the tome, which by now had calmed to a slight whimper and some shivering. "Hermione Granger may borrow this book."

A week later, they were standing in Flourish and Blotts, and Harry was glancing at the list that Professor McGonagall and sent him. She'd arranged for Harry to take potions on a probationary basis, and she'd suggested either Herbology, because she felt it would help him with potions, or Muggle Studies, which, owing to his background, he could take without completing the O.W.L. exam. She'd also mentioned that Harry could probably take Magical Medicine as well, if he wanted too, but that she didn't think there would be a problem if he did not. She must have spoken with Snape about his "private lessons", because a book had been added to the end of the list, one that he was certain few other students would need:

_Occlumency – poking a stick in the mind's eye_. The clerk in Flourish and Blotts mentioned when he retrieved it that they'd only sold a few copies since they'd gotten it, and joked that he'd quite like for someone to read his mind. To their surprise Hermione stepped up.

"You're regretting shaving off your mustache. Your feet hurt, and you want to get back to your reading."

The clerk stared at her, wide-eyed, and Harry was more than a bit shocked as well. Later, as they sat over excellent ice cream, Harry asked her if she was truly a legilimens.

"Oh please!" she said, rolling her eyes. "He had a rash where his mustache was, his shoes were on the wrong feet, and he had ink on his hands from where he'd been licking his fingers and turning the pages."

"That's bloody brilliant!" Ron said, astounded.

"Well, magic isn't _everything_."


	4. Chapter 4 The Hat Sings

**Chapter 4 – The Hat Sings**

The sun had set, and the sky was relinquishing its hold on the last streaks of violet as Harry glanced through the window, watching the landscape of northern England fly by at a considerable place. He saw without seeing; lost in his thoughts regarding the past year and the one immediately to come. He was feeling down again, still having problems coming to terms with Sirius's death, and his role in it. He wanted it to not bother him anymore. He wanted to be able to think about it, and what had gone wrong, without immediately wondering why he was so stupid as to have forgotten the mirrors that would have allowed him to converse with Sirius and Snape, who probably could have checked on him somehow, even if they hated each other. He couldn't think about it, though, because each time he tried he saw Beatrix stunning Sirius and knocking him through the veil…that eerie veil with its whispers and secrety.

He sucked in a long, hissing breath and sighed resignedly. He supposed that he was as over it as he could be for the moment. Sirius was gone, and no amount of feeling sorry for himself could fix that. Being back with his friends helped, and Harry felt as relaxed as he had in a long time when he settled into the crowded train car with Ron, Hermione, Luna Lovegood, Ginny and Dean Thomas, and Neville. Neville was proudly showing off his new wand.

"Give it a wave!" Dean encouraged.

"In a bit…I want to get uh, used to it." Hermione leaned in and whispered so only Harry could hear her.

"He's afraid to find out if his magic will get better or worse." Harry looked to Neville.

"Say, Neville, do you have more of that potion you made for my eyes? I think it may be working."

"Really? That's great! I'm sure I've got more, and if I don't, I can make some…I've been making all the potions I can this summer; well, all I can do without using magic, and I think I might be getting the hang of it!" Neville beamed at Harry, Hermione, and Luna.

Luna looked slightly more normal, at least by Luna Lovegood standards, and though she was still definitely an oddball; Harry had not forgotten their conversation at the end of last year. He'd asked her to continue with the D.A. as well, and she seemed as enthusiastic as she ever got. She was reading a Quibbler, only this time it was upside-right. Harry asked her about this as soon as he noticed.

"Well of _course_, silly! It's a _Saturday_." Harry didn't know what she meant by that, and he decided not to ask.

His every pocket bulged with dozens of chocolate frogs that the Weasley twins had given him. Based solely on their source, he was slightly concerned about whether or not to open them, and eating them was a fifty-fifty proposition that had him waffling between a bit of moribund curiosity and the near-certainty that they had been "adjusted" at some point in time. Ron had suggested giving one to an under-classmen first, and that sat well with Harry.

Across from him, Hermione was carrying on about the new Temporalism classes that were to be offered to select students. He had been mildly surprised to discover an entirely new discipline being offered to them so late in their schooling. He'd been able to find only one book that had mentioned it in Sirius's extensive library. According to _Ridiculously Difficult Magic, and the Dolts Insane Enough to Try It_;it was a very tricky and dangerous branch of magic. He knew a few of the students invited: Ron, Hermione, Cho, Padma Patil, Ernie Macmillan, and a Slytherin named Theodore Nott. There had to be more, but Harry didn't know who they were. He wasn't even all to keen to learn a new branch of magic this late, but he didn't want to be left out of a class with Ron and Hermione. A voice inside his head, one he preferred not to believe was Dumbledore's, told him that he was invited into the class for a reason.

Motion at the edge of his vision drew him from his introspection. Malfoy and one of his goons…Crabbe, Harry guessed, though he couldn't tell from his angle, walked by, pausing slightly. Harry knew they wouldn't dare do anything to him with anyone around, let alone a group of D.A. peers, most of whom had participated in sending the sixth-year Slytherin home in a suitcase at the end of last year. His mental diversion now over, Harry returned his attention to Hermione, who was still talking. After a moment or two, he realized she had asked him a question and he had no idea what it was.

"Sorry, what?"

"I said why do you think they're allowing us to take this so late?"

Harry shrugged. The thought had often crossed his mind, but then, that really wasn't his decision to make. He had to accept or deny the class; it was up to someone else to offer it. "I suppose we'll find that out when we get there."

"What I want to know is why they even let me in," interjected Ron. "After all, it isn't as if I'm some super brain, or something, is it? What could I have that they were looking for?"

"I've been reading a bit more," Hermione said, leaning forward in her seat. "It's very heavily based on logic and causality. You should do loads better than most of us there, with all your chess."

"Mmmmaybe," Ron mumbled. Harry could see what had tripped Ron up. When Hermione leaned forward, they could get a fairly good peak down her shirt. Harry knew Ron was doing his best to look her in the eyes, and if he was anything like Harry, he was not doing well. Hermione leaned back quickly.

"Honestly! Get a good enough look?"

"Er…no?" Ron said unabashedly. He was turning red; mostly, Harry thought, because of the other people in the car. It seemed as if they were trying desperately not to get involved and failing just as miserably as Harry and Ron.

"Git!"

Ron took the opportunity to busy himself with a chocolate frog, which to Harry's surprise was pinkish-red.

"You're eating more chocolate frogs…and what is that?"

"It's new," Ron said. "_Cherry_!"

"It looks rather like you've got a mouthful of bloody bits," said Luna, in her characteristically blunt way.

"Well," Ron replied, "feel free to not watch, if it makes you nervous."

Harry closed his eyes and let the bickering continue. Unlike that of the Dursleys, his friends' friendly banter was calming. In the past, he'd yelled at them when they argued among themselves; now, as long as it sounded friendly, it was a source of comfort to him. Hermione and he talked about Temporalism, the D.A., and she hinted about his pending Occlumency classes, but overall, the trip was a lazy one. About half-way to Hogwarts, Harry remembered his mother's wand. He pulled it from his inside pocket, and unwrapped the parchment that had been bound around it with a long piece of string.

"Oh, Harry!" Hermione leaned forward again, looking at the wand intently. "Is that it?"

"Yeah, my mother's…I was afraid to do anything with it until I got here…I didn't polish it or anything." Hermione dug through her pockets, which on occasion resembled Hagrid's in that they were loaded with any number of useful items. With a smile, she produced a jar of _Wendell's Wondrous Wand Wipe_, and flipped the top with a practiced hand. A moment later, Lily Potter's wand was gleaming as it had the day it was new. Hermione handed it back, looking expectantly at him as he waved it experimentally. Luna, and Neville, were watching him as well, and Ginny and Dean managed to tear their eyes away from each-other long enough to see what he was doing. Harry was a bit suspicious that the only reason they were so engaged was because it made Ron furious.

"Go on then," Hermione said, "let's see it then!" Harry laughed, and Hermione scowled. "What? You don't have anything to worry about, _I_ know it's not your wand!"

"It's not that," Harry said, "it's just that's the first thing you said to me, the first time we ever saw you."

"Blimey! It is, isn't it?" Ron said, smiling broadly. "That seems like so long ago. Well, go on then, give it a flick!"

"I'm not sure what to…" Harry started, then remembered that Mister Olivander had mentioned once that it was good for charms.

"Er…_Wingardium Leviosa_."

Dean rose into the air, looking around nervously at his friends below. Harry had never levitated a person before, even though Ron had once managed a troll's club that was probably twice the weight of the solidly-built Londoner.

"Looks like it works, Harry, but I can't say I like it up here."

Harry lowered him. The wand didn't feel like his, though it was hard to describe how it was different. As they rode along through England and into Scotland, he tried as many small spells as he could think of; though nothing bigger than a summoning charm that sent six quills screaming at him, only to lodge in the wall as he leapt away. He managed to bash his head in the process, and two of the quills pinned the side of his robe to the seat back.

"Great idea that, summoning a bunch of quills," Ron said. "It's a bit like summoning arrows, hey?" He was close to snickering, although Hermione still looked horrified and Dean and Ginny, shocked. Luna had what could have been a look of amusement on her face; it was certainly something different than the normal vacant mask. Neville had been sleeping, and was staring blearily, trying to figure out what happened.

Harry took this as a sign that he should stop casting magic. As near as he could tell, the wand was good enough to use it in a pinch. He returned the quills to their various owners and spent the rest of the trip in and out of restless dreams. He couldn't remember them later; only that every time he awoke he was anxious.

At last they arrived at Hogwarts, and took the thestrel-powered carriages to the castle, where they took their seats and waited for the sorting to begin. Harry noticed immediately how different so many people looked, though he couldn't imagine they'd all changed in such a short time. As with Hermione, he must have simply not noticed until he'd spent some time away.

This was the fifth time that Harry had heard the Sorting Hat's song; his second year he missed it to a whomping willow. He was always a little amazed at the hat's creativity, but then he'd seen where the hat lived, and he suspected that things in Dumbledore's office got smarter simply by proximity.

The students hushed one by one as waves of "Silence!" and "Listen!" spread through the Great Hall. When at last the room was totally still, the rip in the brim curled as if in a smile, and then the hat's reedy voice rang out:

Oh, a thousand years or more ago, before our castle stood,

Some fine young friends decided that a school would be good,

They found a lovely lake and woods, they schemed and planned it out,

And that my friends, is how our dear old Hogwarts came about!

Then they added classrooms, and the hallowed Quidditch Pitch,

And the very finest teachers, for the finest mage and witch!

From every region, land and clime, our fellow students came,

And each one wanted schooling, but each was not the same-

For knowledge drove the Ravenclaws, the sharpest of the mind,

And Gryffindor was fond of saying "Leave no friends behind!"

Slytherin's ambition was the wind that drove the storm,

And Hufflepuff, the kindest heart; she kept the hearthstone warm!

Oh Hufflepuff! Oh Slytherin! Oh Ravenclaw and Gryffindor!

Some demanded fewer in, and some demanded many more.

They talked it out amongst them, but of course could not decide

And so they searched for some fair way to bridge this great divide.

But who should enter in our school, and learn within its halls?

What value should the four espouse? What banners top the walls?

How this problem vexed them all and needed to be solved!

And just to help them out a bit, that's when I got involved!

For when you place me on your head, I'll peek inside your ears,

I'll ferret out your fondest hopes and likewise deepest fears,

I'll open up the windows and I'll unlock all the doors,

So step right up and try me on – and I'll tell which house is yours!

Now, before I'm done I'll warn you, as I've warned you in the past,

It's only those who hold together, who in the end will last!

Please do not let the pride of your division start the year,

We were all divided, in our past, but we are all together, here.

As usual, the students clapped their approval, but Hermione turned to Ron and said quietly "I much preferred last year's. Do you suppose he re-used an old one?"

"Well," Ron replied, "after a thousand years I suppose you get to reuse things once or twice, don't you? I thought it went well. Nice little bit about sticking together at the end there, wasn't it?"

"Look," Neville said, pointing to the instructors' table. "There's that Auror from the Ministry…Shacklebolt, right?"

"Kingsley," Harry said, automatically. "I heard he was teaching Defense this year."

"It'll be nice to have a proper teacher for a change," Seamus remarked, "and none of this criminal in disguise, or fat mad cow, or werewolf." He caught the look on Hermione's face and quickly added "all though Professor Lupin was good, you know; the boggart and all." Hermione was looking at the handsome dark-haired professor between Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick.

"And that must be Professor Walken."

"Who?" Ron asked, gazing intently at Lavender Brown, who had changed nicely over the summer.

"Our Temporalism teacher! Do you pay attention to anything besides girls?"

"Well, you're a girl!" Ron said.

"That's hardly the response I was looking for." She turned her attention back to the staff table. "I thought he was older?"

"Doesn't look a day over twenty, if you ask me," Harry said, though he too was watching a girl, in his case Parvati Patil. He'd never noticed how large and green her eyes were. He'd gotten lost in Padma's hair during his O.W.L.s, and her sister's was just as mesmerizing now. He found himself wandering in his thoughts, drifting in the smells, murmurs, and sounds of the Great Hall. He was often mad: mad at Dumbledore, mad at the Dursleys, mad at Voldemort. He was mad that his ticket was already written. He was mad that other people ran his life. But there were times like this when Harry could not be mad. He could not let the peaceful chaos of the Great Hall become a thing of the past. He couldn't let the wizards and witches here suffer because he was selfish. They were cruel, yes, and many of them didn't even like him, but Harry supposed that's the way it was with the Muggle police as well. He felt he had earned the right to be selfish, but he knew that he didn't have the ability. Selfish was just not in his nature.

He sat, idly sipping pumpkin juice and peacefully observing nearly everything around him. No individual voices jumped out at him, nothing caught his eye. Quidditch, the D.A., his Potions class, and a new and not entirely welcome interest in the girls around him danced through his thoughts. Before he knew it, the sorting was over and Dumbledore was speaking.

"Yes, yes, I'm excited too! I would like to take this opportunity to introduce our new Professors. Professor Ambrose Walken will be teaching Temporalism and will be handling some of your apparition lessons, and Professor Kingsley Shacklebolt has agreed to assist us with our Defense Against the Dark Arts classes. Yes, thank you, give them both a hand…I remind you that the Forbidden Forest is called 'Forbidden' because it is, and I encourage you to explore and take advantage of all student clubs and associations." There was a quiet wave of mumbling throughout the Great Hall, and Dumbledore raised one hand regally.

"I am aware that certain 'decrees' were handed down during the last school year. Since the High Inquisitor has seen fit not to return, I must assume that she no longer feels the need to impose such important restrictions." There were a few snickers among the students; though not, Harry noticed, among the Slytherins.

"Therefore," Dumbledore continued, "all bans, restrictions, and _bad things_ imposed during the last year by our illustrious Inquisitor are hereby repealed." Harry could have sworn Professor Dumbledore looked directly at him when he said "all bans". He took that to mean he was allowed back in Quidditch, and that the D.A. was no longer illegal.

"I have nothing further to say, except that there are many new varieties of confectionary available to those of you with the desire, and I encourage you try them all!"

As soon as the feast was over, they filed to their respective dormitories, led by their prefects. Ron and Hermione were still prefects, but Harry didn't have any real first-night responsibilities, so he walked more slowly with Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil. They were discussing Divination, and Harry gathered from their conversation that Firenze was still teaching. Lavender liked Trelawney's classes, though she was still quite stricken with Firenze, and Parvati preferred the centaur's mysterious ways. They both tuned on him just as they reached the Fat Lady.

"Who would you rather have?" Lavender asked, "Professor Trelawney?"

"Or Firenze?" Parvati added.

"Neither," said Harry. "I'm not even taking it." Lavender looked stunned.

"But…don't you want to see your future?"

"Oh, sure!" He said. "Excuse me, Voldemort, but would you mind holding off on that _Avada Kedavra_ until I can get these tea-leaves read? Thanks old chum! Ooh, bad news, looks like you're going to burn your nose tomorrow morning."

"Harry!" Lavender said, "I'm serious! What if you could see something that could help you against _You-Know-Who_? What if you could see the future?" Later, Harry wasn't quite sure what made him do what came next. He leaned forward, between Parvati and Lavender so only they could hear him, and whispered.

"What if I told you there was a prophecy about me?"

"Don't be silly," Lavender said, "loads of people can claim that." She must have known that was true, but she nonetheless looked as if she were having a hard time concealing her excitement.

"Sure," Harry said, "but think of the things I've done already. Think of the things I _might_ do." Lavender was now enraptured, and she stared at Harry with her huge, blue eyes. Parvati had a strange sort of half smile on her face.

"_Tell me_!" Lavender breathed.

"Oh," said Harry. "I can't do that…er…you might be the one in the prophecy." He looked at Parvati, who was smiling outright now. "Or _you_. I've got to…ah…keep it to myself until I'm sure."

"When will you be sure?" Parvati asked, her voice a lilting laugh.

"I don't know! But you can't say anything about it." He leaned forward again; this time he could smell Lavender, who didn't, on the whole, smell bad. "You have to keep it secret. Who knows who could be listening?" Harry looked around rather theatrically, which was, of course, how Lavender did everything. Neville happened to be directly behind them.

"Hello, Harry. Hello Lavender. Parvati. What's up?"

"Nothing," said Lavender haughtily. "We're discussing _private_ things."

"Right," Harry said, "the _prophecy_."

"You're telling them about the prophecy?" Neville asked, curiously. Harry took advantage of the girls' blindside by winking at Neville.

"I only told them that there was one," He said, "I didn't tell them what it was, yet. Because you know, it might be about _them_ too."

"Good thinking," Neville replied. Harry was pleased that he'd caught on, and Neville continued. "It could be dangerous; if it's not really them it's about. They could go mad!"

"Right," Harry nodded, looking at Lavender and Parvati with what he hoped was a concerned and loving look on his face, "and I couldn't have that."

"But _Longbottom_ knows!" Lavender wailed. Parvati looked as if she was having a very difficult time repressing a laugh.

"Of course!" Harry said. "He's in it!"

"Neville is…Now you've got to tell us!"

"We can't," Neville said, getting fully into Harry's game. "If you're not the…uh…the ones, it would be dangerous."

"Yeah," Harry added, "and you can't talk about it either. It's very important that you keep it to yourself. I mean, you know that, you've read all about prophecies; if you talk about one with someone who isn't supposed to know, _terrible things _could happen!" Of course, Lavender would never admit that there was something about Divination she hadn't read, and judging by the Divination books that Harry had seen; it was highly probable that someone had written that very thing. The chances were equally high that the very same author had written the exact opposite shortly thereafter.

"Well, when can you tell us?"

"Oh," Neville said, really starting to relish his role, "only after we're sure you're the ones in it."

"The ones for what?" Parvati asked, containing herself admirably.

"We can't tell you that either," Harry said. "Not yet. We'll tell you when we're sure though. If we're sure."

"You…oh!" Lavender threw her arms up in exasperation, and spun on her heels, hurrying through the portal behind the Fat Lady's painting. Parvati followed, giggling under her breath. Harry and Neville made their way through the crowded common room and up to their dormitory.

"That was great!" he said, laughing all the way. "But er…why did you do it?"

"I dunno," said Harry. "It just seemed like the right thing to do at the time. Did you see Lavender's face?"

"She was fit to burst!" Neville laughed. "And I think Parvati fancies you."

"Me?"

"Didn't you see how she was looking at you? She thought it was hilarious!"

"You thought it was hilarious. That doesn't mean you fancy me."

"You're blind, mate," Neville laughed. "Are we going to tell anyone else about this?"

"Nah," Harry replied, "think they'll keep their mouths shut?"

"I think Lavender wouldn't dare say anything! I'm pretty sure Parvati knows it was a joke…I hope she keeps it to herself!" By then they'd reached their room, and mutually decided to let the subject drop around Dean and Seamus, who were animatedly discussing the Tornados' chance of repeating their championship run. They barely glanced at Harry and Neville, and their conversation never paused. Out of habit, Harry emptied his pockets on his bedside table, creating a large pile of chocolate frogs that he had forgotten completely about. Harry grabbed a few of those the Weasley brothers had given him, and borrowed one from Neville that he knew was safe, and returned to the common room.

"Hello Harry!" Colin Creevey shouted from across the room. Echoes of "Harry!" and "Hello!" flew from various mouths around the room, and Harry did his best to dutifully return them all. Ron and Hermione were busy with the new students, and Harry found himself wondering if he had looked that small and lost when he was a first year. He pulled Neville's chocolate frog from his pocket and opened it, making sure a few people noticed. When he was sure some of the lower classmen were watching, he pulled the other two from his pocket and offered them to a few second years he didn't know, shoving the empty packages back into his robe pocket. Ron caught his eye and smiled approvingly over Hermione's head. When nothing had happened to them after nearly an hour, Harry deduced that they were probably fit for consumption. He made it through the rest of the night, and trod wearily back to his bed long after he probably should have.

Harry Potter was back home.

The next day at breakfast, a student Harry had never seen stopped across from him, where Ron was sitting.

"Do you mind?" He asked, with an American accent.

"Uh, not at all," Ron said, motioning to his left. The American sat, and Harry couldn't help but stare. He was tall, even bigger than Ron and broader than the twins. He had light brown, nearly gold eyes and sandy blonde hair that hung on either side of his face and was tied loosely back. The stranger noticed Harry staring and extended a hand across the table.

"Connor Colier. Pleased to meet you."

"Harry. Harry Potter."

Connor simply nodded. It was odd for someone to be introduced to Harry and not make a scene about it, and Harry wasn't sure whether he should be thankful or miffed. He noticed what looked like scars running up the insides of Connor's arms, but he didn't want to stare. He knew how annoying it was to have a conspicuous scar. Connor merely smiled at him and turned to Ron.

"Ron, is it?"

"Yeah, that's right. How did you know?"

"You're a prefect, aren't you? I heard your name last night after the sorting."

Was he sorted last night? Harry cursed himself for not paying attention. If he'd have been watching at all he'd have caught it, since Connor was at least his age. He wondered where the boy was sleeping; since he hadn't been in the sixth-year dorm the night before. He was about to ask when Hermione arrived. She sat next to Harry, who wasn't paying a bit of attention, and whispered something in his ear.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I said why is he sitting here," she whispered again. Harry glanced at her, confused.

"Why? Is there something wrong with him?"

"No! Not at all! I was just wondering why he was here with us." She looked around. "Every girl within forty feet fancies him."

"I didn't need to know that," Harry replied.

"Well! Just look at him…" The look on Harry's face silenced her, and she squirmed uncomfortably.

"Are you ill?" Ron asked Hermione, trying his best to ignore Connor and the stares he was generating.

"I'm fine," she said, looking at the table.

"You don't look fine," Harry said.

"That's not something you ask a girl, Ron. And that's not something you tell a girl, Harry." Harry looked up to see Ginny, who was speaking to him but staring at Connor. Seamus Finnigan stood behind her, also staring at Connor, though probably for a different reason. The look on his face was clear. Harry felt that this was going to be a rough year for the American, at least among the boys at Hogwarts. Connor either didn't notice or didn't care.

Halfway through the meal, Hermione left. Harry was going to follow her, but she shoo'd him away. He spent the rest of the meal pushing food around aimlessly, and left before it was over, heading back up to the dormitories. When he got there, he went straight to his bed and immediately fell asleep.

Scraping and a bang awoke him several hours later. Connor was standing before a bed that wasn't there when Harry had fallen asleep.

"I'm sorry Harry," Connor said. "I tried to be quiet…"

"No," Harry said, "don't worry. I shouldn't be sleeping now anyway." Connor stared at him so intently that Harry got the impression that he was looking through him.

"Are you sure you're feeling okay," Connor asked. "Seems like there's something going around."

"I'm fine. I just need…er…something. I don't know what."

"What's with all the plants?" Connor nodded at a bedside bureau that was covered with a variety of foliage. Harry was pleased to notice the Ghost Plant that he'd sent Neville earlier.

"Those are Neville Longbottom's. He's really good at Herbology."

"There are some American plants there. I wonder if he knows that."

"I gave him the Ghost Plant myself," Harry said. "It's from America. He seemed to know all about it, after a bit of looking."

"I don't know much about those. There are some other American breeds there, though," Connor said, "goldenseal…leopard's bane…that's something I'm into myself. Maybe I'll run into him later. Those are some nice boots." Connor nodded at the boots the Weasley twins had given him.

"Yeah," said Harry, "I guess. I don't know if they're my thing, really."

"Are you kidding? Those are choice!"

"I dunno," Harry said doubtfully. Connor winked at him.

"Boots like that will get the women. You should give them a try. May I?"

"Sure," Harry replied, "But I don't know if they'll fit…" He stopped as Connor easily pulled them on and slide stepped backwards and forwards, almost as if he were dancing. He glanced at them appreciatively, and then dropped backwards onto his bed and pulled them off, handing them back to Harry.

"I'll tell you what, if you ever want to get rid of them…" He shrugged and turned back to his chest. Harry watched him go though his things absently until the merest flash of silver caught his eye. Anyone else may not have caught it, but Harry had the eyes of a seeker, and he recognized it right away. Connor didn't look back or give any sign at all that he suspected he was being watched; he simply continued to move things around. There was some quiet clunking that made Harry think of blocks of wood sliding around, and then Connor stood up, stretching impressively. He still had a pile of clothing on his bed, but it looked to be standard fare; robes, trousers, shirts, jumpers, and the like. Harry was considering more sleep when an odd-looking moth flittered into the window and rested on his shoulder. He looked at it curiously until it spoke to him, in Luna Lovegood's voice.

"Come outside, Harry, It's nice out here."

"Er…do I talk to you?" He asked it. Connor looked over his shoulder, pausing with some shiny green and blue robes in his hands. He wasn't the first person to look at Harry as if he was crazy, but he was the first this year.

"Excuse me?" the American said. Harry pointed to the moth on his shoulder.

"Of _course_ you do silly!" the moth replied. "Why would I go to all this trouble to make a bug that didn't work properly?"

"Well, uh…" Harry stammered, looking at Connor. "Give me a few?"

"Okay," the moth said, "but you'd better come out! We're all waiting!" It flitted away lazily, and Harry and Connor stared at each other for a few moments before either spoke.

"So," Harry began, "you're sixth year?"

"Yeah. I'm seventeen, but I got started late."

"I see. Why did you come here from America?"

"I, uh, can't really tell you that, Harry. Sorry."

"Ah, okay then. What is it you do? What are you taking?"

"Well, I'm a Wind Dancer." Seeing the look on Harry's face, he explained. "It's a kind of magic for, um, people who aren't very good at magic."

"You mean squibs?"

"No, not really. More like people who are really good at one or two things and not much good at anything else. It's hard to explain."

"Well, what classes will you be in?"

Connor took a small piece of parchment from the table next to his bed, "Potions, Herbology, Defense Against the Dark Arts, History of Magic, Charms, Astronomy, and…uh…Transfiguration." He said the last bit as if he wasn't very happy about it.

"You don't want to take Transfiguration?"

"Does it seem to you that Dumbledore is a little to optimistic about students, sometimes?"

"Professor Dumbledore," Harry said idly while he considered the question; he didn't know how to answer it. On the one hand, yes, he thought the old man expected entirely too much out of his students, believing that some of them were capable of extraordinary things with little or no evidence to suggest it. On the other hand, Harry desperately wanted to believe that Dumbledore was expecting things that he fully felt were reasonable. He had to, didn't he? His situation sort of depended on it.

"I don't really know. I don't think so. Why?"

"I am destined to fail most heinously. Transfiguration is the wrong place for a not-very-magical wizard."

"Well," Harry said, "there're loads of people who aren't in it. Couldn't you just drop it and take something else? And why History?"

"History is something I do well in. Better than Transfiguration! I'm afraid Charms may be almost as bad, although I'm pretty good at a few of those."

Harry raised an eyebrow but didn't speak, and Connor didn't elaborate, so he decided to change the subject.

"Can I ask you a question about something?" Conner nodded.

"This may sound stupid, but does it involve actual dancing? You know…the magic?"

"Yeah, it does. Well, sometimes." Harry took a deep breath. He wasn't nearly the political animal that some of the students were, and he was genuinely curious to find out what he'd seen.

"I saw it when you put it in your chest. Was that what it looks like?"

Connor thought for a bit before he answered.

"Probably."

"It's well hidden, I hope?" Connor looked at the ground for a bit before he spoke. Harry hoped he wasn't thinking of ways to dispose of him after he'd cut him into pieces.

"Yeah. There's a fake bottom. You won't tell anyone, will you? Dumbledore knows, but I think he'd be pretty upset if he thought anyone found out."

"I'll keep it to myself," Harry said. He now felt that he had something in common with the American, and it lightened the tension between them. That didn't mean, however, that he wouldn't ask Dumbledore about it the first chance he got. Harry knew enough about the old wizard to know that he would never hold it against Connor that someone else noticed something off about him.

"Bit dangerous, don't you think?" Harry asked hesitantly.

In what Harry would later find was Connor's style, the tall American replied. "Well, that's the point."


	5. Chapter 5 Classes Begin

**Chapter 5 – Classes Begin**

When he awoke the next day, Harry was slightly dismayed to discover several choice words burned into the top of his wardrobe in tiny letters. It was odd, as far as practical jokes in Hogwarts went, and he couldn't imagine anyone actually wasting the time and risking getting caught. He pondered it while he got dressed. It was going to be a busy day; the house team had to meet for a bit in the afternoon, and Katie Bell had made it clear that she was not going to let her N.E.W.T.s stop her from captaining. Harry was all too happy to agree with Ron – he wouldn't have the time to captain the team, even if he wanted to. Harry would never give up playing Quidditch, but he was just as happy to be the Seeker and _not _have to schedule, arrange, and administer everything. The first day of classes was always a rough one, and they were only going to get harder from here. While looking at his schedule it dawned on him that, saving Muggle Studies, none of his classes this year were those he could skive off; he'd regret missing any class time. With History out of the way, and Divination and Astronomy gone, he'd have more time to concentrate on the classes that really seemed to matter to him, and that was just as well, since he felt he'd need it. He was happy that Quidditch was again available to him, because even though he spent a good deal of time on it, it was something that allowed him to unwind. Anyway, he'd spent more time thinking about it after he'd been kicked out, so it would actually save him time to be back on the team.

The first class of the day was Transfiguration. Harry discovered that since classes beyond the fifth year were offered but not required, and at times not even available for students who hadn't done well on their O.W.L.s, the number of students in them had dropped quite a bit. Before, they had classes only with other Gryffindors and maybe one other house at a time, whereas now they now found themselves among students from all three houses. People like Padma Patil, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Ernie Macmillan, Pansy Parkinson and Draco Malfoy shared class time with them, which was nice in some cases, and not so nice in others.

Professor McGonagall assured them that they would not be held back for the sake of those less capable. At that revelation, Connor, who was sitting across the aisle from Harry, turned slightly white. Draco looked to be pointedly ignoring everyone but the other Slytherins, which didn't mean he wasn't plotting something. There was a fair bit of speculation over whether Draco would even return, after his father had been caught and arrested following the battle at the Ministry. No mention had been made of that so far, but Harry knew it was the sort of thing that was unforgivable to the pale and thoroughly evil Slytherin.

Professor McGonagall didn't waste any time with first day fluff, choosing instead to give them a list of some of the magic they would have to accomplish this year. Towards the end of the list was "Cross-species Self-Transfiguration". Ron elbowed Harry when he saw it, and Harry knew his friend was worrying over his ability to do it.

"You've got nothing to worry about," Harry said. "Ever since you got your new wand, your magic has been loads better! You're still stuck in second year, mate!"

"We'll see about that," Ron said, looking doubtfully at his wand, "I'll end up bounced out like Neville." Neville had chosen to forgo Transfiguration, although Harry thought he might have been able to do it if he had his new wand, and a bit more confidence.

Potions wasn't until the next day, so the next subject they had together was Charms. It was one of the larger classes, in part because it was easier to get into, but also because the vast majority of witches and wizards had affinities for charms. Not only were they incredibly useful, but charms made up the larger number of spells they learned. Their class was filled with Gryffindors and Ravenclaws: Ron, Hermione, Neville, Seamus, Lavender, Parvati, Padma, Dean, and Connor were all nearby.

Professor Flitwick seemed quite enthused to be going into some of the less mundane material. He outlined the year in advance, and explained that they would be diversifying partially in some of the charms they chose to learn, based on the other classes they were taking.

"Remember," the tiny instructor said, "even in other disciplines, your charms will be of utmost importance. People think they are a little matter…just like me! Consider that charms do everything from cushioning our bottoms on our broomsticks to driving off darkest evil, and everything in between! I urge you not to take them lightly!" He then went on to list many of the spells they'd already learned elsewhere; and Harry was quite surprised to discover how many he'd picked up outside this class. Two things occurred to him: first, he had more talent than he had previously realized. Even though he'd received an "O" on his Charms O.W.L., he'd never realized how successful he'd been in the area; in Defense, alone, he'd pulled off more charms than he'd ever even stopped to consider-- many of them far beyond most wizards his age. Second, he would definitely have to pay more attention to charms, because as he thought about it, most of the spells he'd read about in his free-time research of the Dark Arts were charms, as well. It certainly gave him more respect for Professor Flitwick.

Hermione noticed the in-depth notes he was taking with a bit of shock, and mentioned them after class.

"Is something wrong?"

"Wrong? What do you mean?"

"You're taking notes!"

"Is something wrong with that?"

"No!" she exclaimed, "but you've never taken any like that before, unless it's exam week!"

"I just never realized how many charms I've used, that's all. I figure I ought to start paying attention sometime."

"Not me," Ron said with a grin. "Now I have two great sets of notes to study. I could skive off every class from now to Christmas and still get good marks, if you two keep writing books like that."

"Just try it!" Hermione threatened, but with a radiant smile.

The next subject Harry had was Temporalism. The only other Gryffindors in the class were Hermione and Ron, and the rest were students from other houses. There were sixth and seventh years mixed together, and Harry was a bit dismayed to discover Cho had made the cut. She was even more beautiful than last year, and she regarded Harry with a kind of cool indifference. He didn't really like it, but then part of him also didn't care, and part of him was gratified. It was too confusing to wonder what he was to her; he was almost happier knowing he was nothing. Hermione glared at her, and even Ron felt the tension in the air.

Professor Walken was impressive up close. His black hair was thick and curly, and had it been straight, may have just brushed his shoulders. His eyes were a faded blue, and except for them, it turned out Harry was correct in saying he didn't look a day over twenty. In fact, the professor hardly looked older than a seventh-year student. His voice was smooth and soft, and he had a serene air about him that suggested one at peace with the world and his place in it.

"Time," he began, "is an ocean. Just as you move forward, backward, sideways in an ocean, so you move forward, backward, and sideways in time." He stepped through the room as he spoke, gazing at them as he passed.

"Moving through time is, of course, more difficult than moving through the ocean. Some of you may be here for power," Professor Walken passed Theodore Nott, a quiet Slytherin, without looking down. "Some of you may be here for adventure," his timing was impeccable, and he uttered this as he passed Ron and Harry. He continued winding his way through the classroom without pause. "And then some of you may crave knowledge; or you might be here because you are dedicated to becoming all you can," this came as he passed Padma Patil and Cho from Ravenclaw, and Ernie Macmillan and Susan Bones from Hufflepuff.

"And if that is how you feel, you would all be correct. Time magic is ferociously powerful. It requires a clever mind. It is only for those with great restraint, those who are responsible and considerate not only of others but also time and causality. And it is not for the weak; only the brave will master it. In my assessment, you are some of the most well-rounded students in the school. You may exemplify your respective houses, of that I have no doubt; but I'm willing to wager that the Sorting Hat had a good deal of difficulty placing most of you. In fact, I'm counting on it.

"Before we begin, however, I would like to clear a few things up. Temporalism is _hard_. I mean it; it's very, very difficult. There are quite a few spells that fall in the school of Time Magic, but we will learn only a handful. They require precision, power, dedication, and drive. Some of you may be lacking. This may not be through any fault of your own. Should you discover that you do not have the ability to use this magic, I shall not remove you from our class this year. Temporalism is about more than the magic; it encompasses an entire school of thought. Any questions? No? Well then…"

Professor Walken went on for the entire class period, and by the time Harry, Ron, and Hermione left they all felt somewhat shocked.

"He wasn't kidding," Ron complained, "I understood about half of what he said. I wonder if they've gotten me in the wrong class." Harry could only nod numbly. Hermione summed up what he felt.

"I believe this class could be a proper challenge."

"Excuse me," someone mumbled. A thin figure in black slipped by them.

"Excuse me? I though Nott was a Slytherin." Ron said, watching him stalk away.

"So?" Hermione asked. "They're ambitious…not mouthy. They can't _all_ be like Malfoy. Anyway, Nott's a loner."

"And it's a good thing, too," Ernie Macmillan said. "Malfoy's been bragging up and down to anyone who'll listen about how he's going to hit you with the nastiest curses he knows."

"Let him try it," Ron announced, "maybe this time he won't be stupid enough to do it in front of the D.A."

"I wouldn't count on it," Ernie laughed. "Any common sense he had went along with his old man when they caught him in a hood. Maybe he's got enough restraint to plan things out right, but I wouldn't count on it."

"Plan things right?" Hermione mused. "I suppose those are the right words but…well, it's not a very pleasant thought, is it?"

"I guess we'll just have to hope he's rasher than we think," Harry said.

Ernie nodded and added "speaking of evil wizards, are there plans to resume the D.A.?"

"Certainly," Harry said. This was the first time he'd properly acknowledged that he'd continue them, and Hermione smiled in spite of her very busy schedule. "Only this time, they're legal, so I expect we'll have loads of people."

"That, or no one will come with that mad toad sacked." Ernie said, and then quickly added, "but we'll keep coming. It's just…well…it was a bit more of a thrill when it was secret, you know?"

"There's no reason to run it any differently," Hermione said. "I can whip up some more galleons for anyone who wants to join, and we could even use the same protective contracts!"

"Yeah," Cho said from behind them. "That's a great idea. Why don't you disfigure even more people!"

"Oh, I will," Hermione spat back. "In fact, I could swell up the next one's tongue. That way, when _she_ has a big, fat mouth, maybe I could fill it for her." Ron chuckled under his breath, and Cho huffed as she rushed away. Padma Patil smiled and shrugged as she followed, as if to apologize for Cho Chang's actions. She didn't need to apologize to Harry. As far as he was concerned, Cho's problems were her own. He wouldn't even have a problem with her if she hadn't insisted on trying to justify her friend's betrayal of the D.A.

Just outside of the Gryffindor Commons, they met Neville and Connor, who were on their way the greenhouses for Herbology, along with Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, who were on their way to Muggle Studies. Neville seemed a bit hurt that not many people wanted to be in Herbology. It was the one class he genuinely enjoyed, though he'd been trying desperately to get Professor Snape to allow him into Potions. Harry didn't know why, since all Snape had ever done was make Neville feel inadequate, but Neville certainly seemed intent at it. They exchanged their hurried greetings, and Harry mused it was one of the first times he wouldn't be with his usual friends in a class. Harry had never taken Muggle Studies, but Professor McGonagall convinced him he would get valuable perspective as to how wizards saw the Muggle world, and he shouldn't have to study to keep pace. When he asked if that would hurt his chances of becoming an Auror, she replied as long as he covered the requirements well, by the time the Ministry was likely to be looking him over he should have plenty of qualifications.

That made Harry a bit nervous.

Regardless, he found himself in Muggle Studies with Parvati, Lavender, Edgecombe, and a host of other people he'd run into, but didn't really know. He naturally sat next to the only other Gryffindors in the room; a vacant seat by Parvati Patil. Marietta Edgecombe was sitting off to his right, and Harry noticed her face looked remarkably normal. Even when really examined it, he couldn't see where she'd used any cosmetics. He felt an elbow in the side, and he glanced directly into the green eyes of Parvati. She whispered into his ear.

"You've had your eyes glued on her," she flicked her eyes at Marietta, "and all she's done is scowl at you! Really made her mad, didn't you?"

"It's not my fault she's a rat."

"No," Parvati shook her head. "I don't suppose it is. She looks good now, though, hey?" Harry looked at her again. Marietta was, he noticed, quite pretty. That still didn't change what she'd done to Harry and the rest of the DA.

"She looks like a fink to me."

Parvati laughed aloud, drawing even more glares and an admonition from the Professor. The class ended up being exactly what Harry had guessed it would be; half slacking and half trying to keep up with the wizarding world's twisted sense of Muggle reality. He didn't believe he'd have too much difficulty in dealing with it, and was happy that he'd have at least one class in which he could give less than his best and still perform. He felt he would need the time. It was odd to be in a class without Ron and Hermione, and even more so when Parvati and Lavender both mentioned that he could help them out. Harry wasn't used to being an authority on anything other than Defense.

Later, he found Ron, Hermione, Neville, and Connor waiting for him when he returned to the Gryffindor common room. Ron was slumped on a lounge next to Hermione, who was trying to convince him that Herbology wouldn't really be _that bad_. Neville and Connor sat at one of the tables, looking at a small, white plant that seemed to tilt its leaves toward the late afternoon sunlight, which came streaming in through the large windows. They'd hit it off well, and were animated in their discussion. Before Harry could greet any of his friends, Parvati pulled him aside.

"Do you know Connor well?"

"Not really," Harry said. "I've talked to him a bit, but I don't really know much about him."

"He's dead sexy," Lavender said, looking at the tall American with half-closed eyes. "Could he be the one, you know, in _the thing_?"

"Ah, I don't think so." Seeing the look on Lavender's face, Harry quickly added "he's a year older than Neville and I. He started school late, I guess. Anyway, I'm certain it's Neville."

"Are you sure," Parvati asked, "that you can't tell us any of the prophecy?"

"Quite," Harry said.

"Not even a little?"

"Not unt-"

"I know," Lavender interrupted, "not until you're sure I'm the one." She looked at Parvati, who was rolling her eyes. "Or her…or us." They slipped away with parting glances at both Harry and Connor. Harry smiled weakly and sat on the arm of the sofa, looking down at Ron and Hermione. It took them a few moments to realize that he was even there, and Harry felt a sinking sensation in his stomach: Ron and Hermione were flirting.

At first Harry wanted to shout at them, but then he remembered the TriWizard Tournament. He, Ron, and Hermione had all come to a point where none of them wanted to be around each other because things were so awkward. Even though the reasons were a bit different then (at least in the case of he and Ron), he still remembered how much he hated to be without his best friends. No, Harry felt he'd learn to cope with this in some other way. With a start, he realized they'd both stopped talking and were staring at him.

"Are you okay, mate?" Ron asked, looking genuinely concerned.

"What? Oh, yeah. Just thinking, that's all…first day and all."

"Right, right. Well, we have a prefect meeting tonight, and Katie wanted me to tell you that we have to meet the day after tomorrow to choose new Chasers, and possibly Beaters. Sloper and Kirke were okay…" Ron trailed off.

"Okay for spares," Harry said, knowing exactly what his friend meant.

"Yea," Ron replied.

"Is Ginny going to switch over to Chaser willingly then?"

"Does she have a choice?" Ron smirked. "She likes it better than Seeker anyway – I don't think she ever really wanted to be Seeker."

"And our Beaters?" Harry asked. Ron shrugged.

"The Creeveys cornered me earlier and promised they'd been working all summer, so we'll see how that goes. If we find better ones, I suppose we'll have to take them, right?

"The…the _Creeveys_? Are you mad? The both of them together might weigh ten stone soaking wet!"

"I'm just repeating what I've been told!" Ron said, raising his hands in surrender. "Don't shoot the messenger!"

"Well, _I'm_ not the captain," Harry said. "It's up to Katie."

"I'm glad she decided to do it. Ginny has been helping her as well; remind me to buy her something nice sometime for taking that load off our hands. Maybe I _won't_ turn Dean's hair into snakes next time I see him pawing her up." Ron nearly suppressed the shudder of revulsion that swept over his face, and Hermione giggled, which astounded Harry. Out of all the years he'd know Hermione, he'd almost never heard her giggle.

"How was Herbology?"

"Dreadful," Ron said.

"Fantastic!" Neville shouted, from next to Connor and the sun-loving plant on the table.

"Ron's overreacting," Hermione said, showing traces of the know-it-all they'd first met on the Hogwarts Express. "It's not nearly that bad. And why aren't you in it?"

"McGonagall feels that I may be better off with some free time for all the things I have to do this year."

"Speaking of which," Hermione said, "we should arrange our first D.A. meeting. Would you like me to change the galleons?"

"Sure," Harry said. "I think sometime next weekend would be best, for the start. Professor Dumbledore wants me to continue my…er…_other_ lessons too. I don't know when those are going to start, but sometime soon, I'd guess."

"That's very important, Harry," Hermione lectured, "don't shirk it."

"I won't."

"D'ya have to do it with Snape again?" Ron asked, wrinkling his nose.

"That's what Dumbledore wants," Harry replied. He hadn't yet decided whether to bend to the headmaster's request or demand that Professor Dumbledore teach him. Of course, he knew that ultimately he'd do what Dumbledore told him, but he couldn't help feeling that the headmaster owed him something.

They talked about their classes for the next several hours until Hermione suppressed a yawn and Harry noticed with a start that if he didn't get to sleep he'd have a rough time making it to his classes tomorrow. With Potions first thing, he didn't think that would be a great idea.

He awoke the next morning to discover even more words burned into his bureau. Someone had placed his stack of chocolate frog cards over it to conceal it, and Harry wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't bumped them. What bothered him most was the thought it had to be someone in his dormitory, one of the people he trusted implicitly. The only one Harry didn't know well was Connor, and Connor hadn't been in their room the first night, when the first words had appeared. Seamus and Harry had their differences at times, but he didn't think Seamus was the type to pull a silly prank like this; he was much too blunt. Besides, they'd been getting along well lately.

Tuesdays and Thursdays were light days for Harry; he had only two classes, though they were both double-length. His first subject of the day was Potions, which was a disparagingly small class. He, Hermione, and Connor were the only Gryffindor students, and no other house had more than five people present. Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson were there, as well as Theodore Nott, who Harry recognized from his Temporalism class. Nott sat near the other Slytherins, but didn't seem to be paying much attention to them. Snape looked to be in a particularly foul mood.

"I will tolerate no failures in his class," he announced, staring right at Harry. "Any student who fails more than three potions will be immediately removed." Harry inwardly sighed. He knew that he could do potions; his O.W.L.s had proven that, but Snape always made him particularly nervous. The Potions Master was also probably quite upset at even having Harry in his class, and would doubtless be looking for any excuse he could find to bounce him. Hermione was unusually quiet, and took even more detailed notes than she had in the past. Harry did, as well. His motivation was much higher than it had ever been, in part because of the prophecy, and also because he knew Professor McGonagall must have had to pull strings to get him into this class. Harry wasn't about to cross _her_.

Over the summer, he'd had quite a bit of time to think, owing to the fact that he would at times spend twelve or more hours a day in bed. Sometime just before he'd gone to Grimmauld Place, he'd considered the casual way that grown-up wizards performed spells that he had never even imagined. He felt that he was well behind in his magical ability, either because he'd been raised a Muggle and hadn't learned to think in terms of magic, or possibly because he simply hadn't been achieving in school.

He thought it likely that he'd just been underperforming; thinking of magic as a novel ability he'd never really have to rely on in the long run. Hermione, after all, had also grown up as a Muggle, but she definitely thought as a witch. It dawned on Harry that if he didn't start understanding how magic fit into his life, he'd never be more than a magic-using Muggle. That wasn't, in his mind, conducive with his long-term survival; not when he was responsible for defeating one of the most powerful and learned wizards to ever live.

In the end, he never really reasoned out what it was, but he did come to the conclusion that more studying was definitely in order. He'd already taken more notes in one day than he had in a week of any other year. Today, Snape seemed intent on frightening them so badly that they'd quit his class, rather than being a bother. As Harry looked over his notes, he saw that a good portion of them consisted of warnings over how difficult this year would be and the dire fate awaiting them, should they fail. He looked at the list of potions they'd be making. None of them were close to what they'd been doing so far. Hermione was certainly going to be helping him here. Harry looked to Conner, who was also taking notes fit to write a book. His writing was neat and cramped, and Harry noticed it was in different colors. As he watched, Connor tapped his quill with his thumb, changing the color of the writing from black to a deep blue. There were spots of green and red on his parchment as well. Harry figured that Potions would probably be a very important class for a wizard with Connor's self-proclaimed lack of magical ability.

As they rose to leave, Snape called out to Harry.

"Potter, a word. We need to discuss your remedial potions." Hermione and Connor paused, and he whispered to them to wait for him outside. Malfoy smirked as he pushed by Harry, but Harry refused to rise to the bait.

"Professor Dumbledore has informed me that he wishes for us to continue your lessons." Snape looked around, certain that even in the empty classroom they were being overheard. "Obviously, I would have nothing further to do with you, _if at all possible_, but the matter is out of my hands. You are to meet with him tomorrow after your last class – which is?"

"Muggle Studies," Harry provided.

"Indeed." Snape scowled even more, and Harry wondered why it wasn't permanently stuck that way. "You will meet with him after your Muggle Studies class to discuss the matter. Did you at least purchase the book as I requested?"

"Yes," Harry answered, opening his pack.

"Not here, dolt!" Professor Snape hissed. "There is a _reason_ we are doing this in private. Keep the book out of sight until we meet. I don't suppose you've even looked at it yet?"

"I've read the first chapter," Harry said. He wanted to be proud, but he knew with Snape, he could have read the whole book and it wouldn't have mattered. Nothing would ever be good enough.

"Is that so? Well, Potter, perhaps you're turning over a new leaf. We'll see what you've missed when you come in for your lesson. I will not waste my time this year, headmaster or no."

Harry turned to go and Snape stopped him with one last barb.

"Another thing, _Mister_ Potter; you had better approach the entire year as you did today; that is, with your quill moving and your mouth _shut_. Professor McGonagall got you into this class, and I shall not hesitate to toss you _out of it_, should you refuse to perform. Now, get out of my dungeon."

Harry left with both the weight of his lessons and Snape bearing down on him. He would approach it with the same work ethic that had overtaken everything else; if Snape wanted to throw him out, well, there was nothing he could do about it, was there? As he stepped from the classroom, Harry saw a group of students about halfway down the hall. He recognized Crabbe, Goyle, Connor, Malfoy, and Hermione. It was obvious, even from this far away that an altercation was brewing.

"Potter. Just the scum I wanted to see in the hallway, all alone."

"I'm not alone, Malfoy; or did your eyes go along with your common sense?"

"Oh, I don't count mudbloods and Americans. They aren't wizarding families so much as they are, what, Granger? Broods? Litters? Oh, don't look so disgusted! Nothing I could say would be as vulgar as your upbringing!" Malfoy turned on Harry. "You and I have some things to discuss, and I think you're coming with me so we can…work them out." Crabbe and Goyle moved forward threateningly, but Harry stood his ground.

"I don't think we have anything to talk about, Malfoy, and I'll thank you to never speak to me again. Ever." Draco stepped forward until he was mere inches away from Harry.

"Make this easy on yourself Potter. I'm not totally without mercy; it doesn't have to hurt at all." Harry was momentarily shocked at how like Voldemort Malfoy sounded. At this point, Connor spoke.

"Actually, I think it would be best if it hurt tremendously. What do you boys think?" Crabbe and Goyle realized he was talking to them when he placed his hands on their shoulders. They looked at each other uncertainly until, with the finesse of a surgeon, Connor slid his hands up their necks and bashed their heads together. He caught them both by the necks of their robes and dragged them quickly around the corner. Suddenly Malfoy didn't look so good; in fact, he blanched even more, which Harry wouldn't have thought possible. The Slytherin reached belatedly for his wand, but Hermione beat him easily.

"_Expelliarmus!_" Malfoy's wand flew from his fingers and bounced off the wall. Hermione snagged it on the bounce. Two things happened at once, then; Crabbe and Goyle returned from around the corner, and Snape stepped from his dungeon.

"Potter! Malfoy! What's going on here?"

"They attacked me!" Malfoy whined. "_She_ took my wand, and _he_ threatened me!" Malfoy looked around, presumably for Connor. When the tall American was nowhere in sight, Malfoy's eyes settled on Harry.

"Potter? What do you have to say for yourself?"

"He didn't do anything," Goyle said. Malfoy stared at his bodyguard, stunned.

"Yeah," Crabbe added, "We took Draco's wand. I threw it at the mudblood and she caught it."

"We were going to work them over," Goyle added. Draco Malfoy looked totally horrified, and Snape stared directly at Crabbe and Goyle, weighing their words carefully. Harry knew he was a bit of a Legilimens, but seriously doubted he'd need that to see if total idiots like Crabbe and Goyle were lying.

"Mudblood…indeed. Five points from Gryffindor. You are a prefect, Miss Granger, and you should have learned to avoid these confrontations by now."

"Five points! But…"

"Ten points, unless you want me to take more, which I assure you I gladly will. And Potter, I can not presume to guess what kind of breeding or upbringing has produced someone so thoroughly _in congress_ with trouble-making." Harry felt his face blazing and was about to say exactly what he felt about Snape's breeding and upbringing, when he felt a delicate hand on the small of his back. With one touch, Hermione restored his better senses, and with difficulty, he bit back his retort. Snape, perhaps expecting a reply, looked mildly disappointed. Instead of continuing on with his berating, he merely whispered "detention" in a cold hiss. Draco smirked and his goons continued to gaze blankly. They looked even dumber than usual. Snape turned on him with a flash of black and greasy hair.

"Wipe that stupid smile off your face, Mister Malfoy. One would hope you'd consider your _current situation_ when pulling a stunt like this. Five points from Slytherin, for _each_ of you. Now, when I open my eyes, I want all of you _out of my sight_."

Harry could hardly believe his ears; Snape taking points from Slytherin – that was a first. As they walked around the corner, they ran into Connor, who was leaning against the wall, twirling his wand. Malfoy turned the corner behind them and stopped dead in his tracks.

"You…"

"So, tell me again how the points work? You want to have more, right?" Connor was looking directly at Malfoy, and Crabbe and Goyle shied back behind the blond Slytherin. The internal struggle was evident in his face, but he wisely chose to push by the American, hissing as he passed.

"It's not over!"

In response, Conner raised his hand and flicked his fingers as if he was dismissing the Slytherin boys. Harry was trying as hard as he could not to laugh, but was obviously failing. Hermione was smiling broadly, and Crabbe and Goyle swung well away from Connor, Harry, and Hermione as they passed.

"You probably shouldn't have done that," Harry said, looking up into Connor's eyes.

"But I did."

"Well, I er…appreciate it."

"What did you do to Goyle and Crabbe?" Hermione asked.

"Was that who they were?"

"Yeah," Harry replied, as they continued down the hallway, on their way to Defense against the Dark Arts.

"Well, remember how I said I was good at a few charms?"

"You used a memory charm," Hermione chipped in, "and it was a nice one, too!"

Connor smiled. It didn't look entirely at home on his face.

"Now Malfoy's really going to be itching for a fight," Harry added. He wasn't sure if that's what he wanted or not. One thing was certain; Malfoy would think twice about trusting Crabbe and Goyle again, and that would probably play in Harry's favor.

"Harry?" Connor asked as they ascended the moving stairs.

"Yes?"

"I uh, I don't want to step into something I shouldn't have. If you'd rather I not get involved…" He trailed off. It took Harry a moment to figure out his hesitation.

"Ha! You could throw Malfoy off the astronomy tower and I wouldn't care. We're Gryffindors, and we stick together. It was almost worth the detention."

"I was hoping you'd say that."

"At least this year you waited until the second day of class to get a detention." Hermione said, trying to grin. "You're getting better. Ron will be miffed; he'll hate us for not doing this when he was around."

"Like we had a choice!" Harry exclaimed, although he wished Ron could have been there as well.

As promised, Ron was quite upset he hadn't seen Crabbe and Goyle get theirs, and Malfoy lose points from Slytherin to none other than Snape. He wasn't too upset to laugh until his face matched his hair, however, and Harry thought he was in serious risk of having a stroke before he calmed down in time for class.

Kingsley Shacklebolt was as Harry remembered him; large, soft-spoken, and quietly intimidating. Harry had already read well into their book for this year, and he felt very comfortable during the lecture. With the reading he'd done over the summer, he was ready to start on some of the more specialized areas of defense. The students (they were all Gryffindors in this class) moaned when Professor Shacklebolt announced this year would be very heavily influenced by magical theory. He regained them by assuring them they would be learning new spells-- perhaps too many to even remember them all. Harry, who was working on his fifth book of notes this year, promised himself he wouldn't forget any.

They didn't learn any new spells the first day; instead Shacklebolt gave them lists of certain curses and categorized them as to their types, writing dates next to them.

"We'll be doing these spells at these times. I expect you to know what they are _by_ these dates. The counter-curses and remedies we will discuss in class. If you haven't gotten a release signed, you will have to work with me to provide an alternative course of study when we get to some of the more dangerous ones."

Harry paused his note-taking in mid-sentence. He'd never seen or heard of a release for this year. Not only did he not have one signed; there was virtually no chance of getting it done now. What would he do without it? He made a note to ask Dumbledore during their meeting tomorrow – he didn't feel it was fair to be excluded from learning how to defend himself simply because the Dursleys were the worst sort of people to ever walk the earth. There had to be something he could do. Ron noticed the look on his face as they were leaving.

"S'wrong?"

"Well…" Harry started, "did you get a consent form for Defense?"

"For Defense? No. We just got one for everything at once."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, we just got the one form, and it's supposed to cover everything," Ron began to list things off on his fingers, "Defense, Transfiguration, Care of Magical Creatures, er…" he saw the look on Harry's face and paused, "er…Temporalism. Wait a minute. Harry, are you telling me you _didn't_ get a form? Well, you should have said something!"

"I didn't even know they were sent out, or I would have. Son of a…"

"Language, Harry," Hermione chided. "They have to let you _try_ to get one signed. It's not like they can just keep you out of half our classes."

"I sure hope you're right," Harry said, "or I'm hung out to dry. Look at all these counter-curses we're going to have to learn, and that's just in Defense. If I don't get that release, I'm really in for it."

"I could probably sign your uncle's name, if we could get a hold of one, or we could get Dean to…" Ron mused.

"Ronald!" Hermione exclaimed, stopping so fast that Seamus and Dean nearly ran into her from behind. "Have you forgotten you're a _Prefect_? You can't just go around offering to commit _forgery_! Honestly!"

"Well, Harry's my friend! I'm not going to leave him high and dry. Besides, it's more important he learn all that anyway…don't tell me _you'd_ keep him out of classes, release or not!" Ron knew Hermione was torn between her desire to follow the rules and her love of learning.

"I've got a meeting with Dumbledore tomorrow," Harry said. "Maybe he'll know something I don't."

"And if not," Hermione said, "I'm sure we could do the curses as part of the D.A. – I don't think they can stop clubs from practicing spells."

"Not if they don't know we're doing it!" Ron quipped. That was obviously what Hermione intended, but hearing it spoken aloud caused her to blush and look again at her feet; which Ron and Harry noticed she did whenever she felt embarrassed or conflicted.

Almost everyone else had classes after Defense, but Harry didn't, owing to his light schedule. Later in the year he'd need that time, but on only the second day of class, he found himself reading his potions book and taking notes in the margins. He figured since he'd paid for the book, there was no reason he couldn't write whatever he wanted in it, though it had never occurred to him in the past. Things were starting to make a bit more sense after he'd reread his old Potions texts this summer.

_I'm turning into Hermione_, Harry thought, _Ron will never forgive me._ Then he reconsidered…Ron probably would forgive him, as long as he shared his notes.


	6. Chapter 6 The Silver Arrow

**Chapter 6 – The Silver Arrow**

"You want…another one?" Hermione seemed incredulous. Though they'd always been sufficiently appreciative of her gifts; she knew the planners and books weren't always the most popular gifts in the pile.

"Yeah," Harry said. "The thing is; I can put my notes in and move them around easier than when I just write them."

"You're going to use them for your notes?" Hermione was quickly moving from a state of simple disbelief to one of shock.

"Er, yeah. So actually, if I could have a few more, I could use one for each subject. Do you have five extra? I could pay."

To Harry's surprise, Hermione leapt forward and captured him in a crushing embrace, spinning him around. Then she kissed him squarely on the cheek, and it felt rather good. They might have stood that way for several minutes had Ron not appeared at the top of the stairs to the boys' dormitory. When Hermione saw him, she pulled away; but Harry could see the gleam of tears in her eyes. She spun on her heels and rushed back to the girls' dormitory.

"What was _that_ all about?" Ron asked, once again looking at Harry suspiciously.

"I don't know…I just asked her for another one of the books she gave me for my birthday."

"Well," said Ron, "I did notice she was crying, so your perfect record of making every woman who kisses you leaky stands intact. She never did that when I kissed her."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, "wait a minute…you kissed Hermione?" Ron turned a delicate shade of pink.

"You can't tell her I said that; you'll make her go from crying to spitting curses."

"But you have kissed her?"

"A few times," Ron admitted, looking at the ceiling as if it had something to say to him.

_Well, then,_ Harry thought, _I guess I know where that relationship lies._ They made their way to breakfast with only a bit of awkwardness between them, and neither of them mentioned it again that morning. Ginny stopped by while they were eating breakfast to remind them that Chaser tryouts were that afternoon. Since it was Wednesday, he also had to meet with the headmaster after Muggle Studies, but he hoped to have enough time to see at least some of the prospective Quidditch players.

Harry was amazed to discover that it felt as if he was in the middle of the school year. He speculated this was because he had immersed himself so fully into his studies this year. He still wasn't used to having classes without Ron and Hermione; and by the time Muggle Studies came around, he again sat next to Parvati, since she was one of the few people in the room with whom he was comfortable.

On the way to class, he'd run into Luna, who was wearing a pendant with what appeared to be a live miniature goldfish swimming around in circles inside it, which reminded Harry of his mother's pendant. He hadn't examined since he arrived at Hogwarts. Maybe Hermione would be able to discover what it did. If she couldn't, perhaps Professor Flitwick could; he'd been the professor who dissected Harry's Firebolt when they suspected Sirius Black had sent it to him with some sort of curse or jinx. They'd been right about its source; but, of course, had never found any type of curse whatsoever.

Harry had all these thoughts while he was taking his notes, which were surprisingly complete, though they probably weren't up to par with his others. On their way out, the Professor handed him a small box.

"What is it?" Parvati asked, straining to catch a glimpse at what he held.

"Er, candy."

"Why would the Professor give you that?" Lavender asked.

"I dunno. Unless…"

"Unless what?" Parvati pushed.

"Nothing. Will you be trying out for the Quidditch team? We need Chasers, you know."

"Ha! Not likely! I'm happy on the ground, watching you."

"Me?"

"Well, yes. You and the whole team, silly." She flashed him a dazzling smile, and he turned in the direction of the Headmaster's office.

"Well," Harry called after her, "if you want to watch the tryouts, they're this afternoon."

"Perhaps," she called back, as she turned to the rest of the students.

Harry passed Professor Snape just outside of the Headmaster's Office. He looked as bitter as ever, and didn't even speak to Harry as he pushed by just in time for Harry to see the revolving stairway closing.

"Professor, what's the password?" Harry said, turning to Snape, only to see the Professor wave his arm in dismissal as he skulked away. He stood before the gargoyle that marked the entrance, fingering the box the Professor had given him in Muggle Studies.

"Chocolate Frog." Nothing happened.

"_Cherry_ Chocolate Frog." The stairway rumbled to life, and Harry stepped onto it, riding it up to Professor Dumbledore's office.

"Hello, Harry."

"Hello, Professor. You wanted to see me?"

"Indeed I did. Sit, please." Dumbledore waved one arm majestically and Harry sat before him. Many of the instruments he'd broken at the end of last year were again resting in their familiar places, as good as new.

"And how were your first few classes? Enjoyable and enlightening, I hope?"

"Ah, sure," Harry said, "alright I guess – a lot of work. I meant to ask you…I don't believe I was sent a release, and it appears I'll need one for most of my classes."

"Yes, Professor McGonagall mentioned we hadn't received one for you; but fear not! I've already contacted the Dursleys."

"Oh really?" Harry asked, interested in their response in spite of himself.

"Indeed. I simply explained that the consent of a guardian was required for you to learn some of your subjects this year. Your uncle replied with an inquisition as to the dangerous nature of your activities, which I naturally had to answer honestly. I conveyed to him the fact that there were, indeed, dangerous subjects to be covered, and you could be seriously injured, or even killed. I added, of course, that these were subjects nearly every other witch or wizard would learn, and you would have constant supervision. To my surprise, your uncle was quite agreeable, even insisting that you practice them more than anyone here. Perhaps he truly does care about you, in some way?"

_Yeah_, Harry thought, _I imagine he'd love it. If I could practice dying, he'd sign me up twice._ "Yeah, well…I'm okay then?"

"Certainly. You may participate in any activity we offer. I didn't want to mention this before, but I had duplicates of every form you'd need through the rest of your schooling – Hogwarts and beyond – sent to Sirius last year. We have them signed and filed away, should the need arise. Of course next year will be the last year you need consent, but there are other issues."

"Will there be a problem with his…er…status?"

"Not with me, or with most others you are likely to encounter, if I have anything to say about it," Dumbledore winked good naturedly, "and I usually do!"

Harry thought about that. It was certainly a good idea. He'd been thinking he would have all sorts of questions for the headmaster; now that he was here, he couldn't think of any. He briefly considered asking about Connor, but then changed his mind at the last moment.

"No? Well then, let us get to the point, shall we? Professor Snape has agreed to tutor you privately - most graciously, I might add, after what happened last year. I would like you to work with him, Harry. I should hope there is nothing I can possibly say to convince you that would mean more to you than your own common sense."

Harry remained silent. He'd resigned himself to the fact that he might have to spend more time with Snape than he wanted but that didn't mean he had to like it. Dumbledore seemed to pick up on his thoughts.

"I don't expect you to enjoy it, but I expect you to do it, _to the best of your considerable abilities._ Consider it a favor to me."

"I'll do my best," Harry said, "but I can't promise we'll get along. Sna…_Professor_ Snape taunts me on purpose. It's like he wants me to get kicked out, or hurt."

"Perhaps. Regardless, I believe what he wants personally will always be acquiescent to what he knows he must do. I feel this based on how well I know him, _which_, I might add, is a good deal better than you. You have asked me to be honest with you, and for me to do that you must also trust me."

"Yes, sir."

"Now, about the D.A...I believe we would be better off leaving it as a club, rather than a school-sponsored activity. This would allow us a certain amount of, shall we say, insulation in dealing with those who wouldn't recognize the obvious merits of your activities. Do you believe you'll have enough time? Do you need to adjust your schedule?"

"No," Harry replied, "I think it's about right." The headmaster smiled crookedly.

"I've been informed of your recent interest in taking notes, and it does my heart no end of good. I was beginning to wonder if all you had inherited from Lily were her eyes…it is beyond words to see this aspect of her in you."

"Thank you, Professor."

"Thank you, Harry. Now, I do hate to continually rush things whenever we get a chance to speak, but I am a bit busy at the moment, so if there is nothing else?"

Harry ran all the way from the Headmaster's Office to the Quidditch pitch. It was obvious from the dissipating group of Gryffindors that he'd missed most of the tryouts, but there was still a core group he recognized. Ron and Ginny had hair he could see a mile away, and Connor was large enough to spot even if there were a hundred people on the pitch. Before he could get close enough to talk to them, a voice from the bleachers boomed his name.

"Harry!"

He turned to see Hagrid resting in the stands, watching the last of the Gryffindor try-outs. He didn't take Hagrid's Magical Creatures class, so this was the first time he'd run into the groundskeeper this school year.

"Hello, Hagrid!" He trotted over to the stands, looking over his shoulder at the crowd. Hagrid offered one tremendously large hand, and Harry shook it.

"How've yer classes been, Harry? Pretty busy, I bet!"

"You should see my notes. Ron thinks I've gone mad."

"Well, that's good…taking after yer mum, then. She was always handy with a quill."

"Yeah, Professor Dumbledore said something like that."

"She was a good student. I'm not saying yer not, but…well, I always thought ya had more in ya."

"Well, I'm trying this year. I'm really sorry I didn't take Magical Creatures…I…"

"It's no problem, Harry," Hagrid cut him off with a look on his face that clearly said he missed Harry in his classes. "I know yer real busy this year, what with your defense club and all. That reminds me…do ya think I could…well, no, never mind."

"What, Hagrid?"

"Naw, I couldn't. I'd make ya look silly."

"I swear that's the last thing I'm worried about."

"Well, I was sort of wondering if I could sort of…tag along…in your club, maybe once or twice?" Harry was stunned. Was Hagrid really asking if he could be involved in the D.A.? And he felt that would embarrass Harry? Hagrid caught the long pause.

"It's okay, Harry, I don't want to put ya out. I can…"

"No!" Harry interrupted, "of course you can come! I was just surprised you'd ask!" Hagrid's smile was like everything else about him: enormous. "I'll let you know when we start again."

"It'd give me the chance ta see ya once or twice. Well, once or twice a month would be nice. Oh, by the way, I have yer present, except it's not quite done. I meant to have it for you by yer birthday, but with Grawp and all, and there was some sort o' weird fungus growing on the Quidditch Patch. We thought it was quite attractive, actually, until it started shooting little spore clouds at anyone who came close."

"What'd the spores do?"

"They turned ya red and made ya gassy."

Harry nodded. "It's probably a good thing you took the time to get rid of them then." Harry glanced over his shoulder, hearing shouting.

"That looks like Ginny Weasley waving for you," Hagrid said. "You'd better get onto yer team now! Make sure ya stop by and see me, sometime."

"I will," Harry promised, "and I'll let you know when the DA starts."

Hagrid nodded and waved Harry off, and he rushed back onto the pitch towards his friends.

"So what's this now?" Connor was looking curiously at the chest containing the balls.

"Quidditch," Ron answered, "you know Quidditch, right?"

"Should I?"

Ron was aghast. In his sixteen years, Harry was the only wizard he ever met who didn't know about Quidditch. He didn't even know how to go about explaining it.

"Well, there's sort of this ball, you know…er…three of them actually."

"Four," Harry said, jumping in.

"Er, yes. Four. Three kinds. And there're rings you have to put them through, three of them."

"Six," chimed in Harry.

"Well, yes, six. But three per side, you see?"

Connor took the opportunity to eye the Beater's club appreciatively. It, of course, looked familiar to him.

"D'ya like that?" Ron asked, handing it over handle first. Connor hefted it, checking its balance and weight.

"And which ball do I hit?"

"The Bludger," said Harry, "but you'll want to be careful…they have a mind of their own."

"Can I try?"

"Sure," Ron said, fighting with the heavy, struggling ball. Even though he and Connor had their differences, he couldn't resist trying to pull another wizard into the world of Quidditch. Connor walked a good distance away, and then nodded at Ron, who shouted to those flying. "Bludger out! Look sharp!" He released the vicious iron ball. As if summoned by the club, it shot directly toward Connor, who stood with his feet splayed, the club cocked up like a baseball bat. He patiently awaited its arrival, and then, very quickly, stepped forward with his front foot and brought the club around in a quick inside-out swing that would have made any baseball coach proud.

"Smoked that baby like Mike Piazza!"

"Who?" Ron asked. Connor shook his head.

"You should be a Beater!" Katie Bell said, looking up at Connor. "Are you up for a try-out?"

"Er…well, do you have to fly the broom?" This question seemed to exasperate Ron.

"Uh…yeah?"

"Then I'm afraid you'll need a different cat. Brooms and I, uh, don't get along."

Ginny wrinkled her nose. "What do you mean, _don't get along_?"

"They just don't like me," Connor said, "and the feeling's mutual. I can't fly anyway."

"Well," Katie pressed him, "you don't have to fly that well to be a Beater. You really should try it."

"I don't think that would be such a good idea."

In response, Ginny handed him her broom, the old Shooting Star, since the Twins hadn't delivered her new Cleansweep yet.

"You're not going to like it," he said, glaring at her and Katie. He handled the broom as if it was something recently, but no too recently deceased. Ginny continued to stare at him, summoning every bit of her mother's Weasley Glare. Connor shrugged and delicately mounted the broomstick. Immediately, it began to shudder, growing gradually into full-blown bucking. With a gasp, the broom shot straight up into the air, leaving Connor lying flat on his back.

"Boy," Ron wheezed, in-between gales of laughter, "you weren't kidding! You're _terrible_!"

"Thanks," Connor replied sourly. "Who's that?" He pointed directly up at a small figure with auburn hair darting through the sky on a broom that looked as if it was going far faster than it reasonably should. As she passed above, she reached out and plucked Ginny's broom from the air.

"I dunno," Ron said, shielding his eyes from the sun.

"That's Natalie MacDonald," Katie spoke up from behind them, "and flying like that, she's a dead lock to be one of our Chasers."

"Isn't she a fourth-year?" asked Harry.

"What's that she's riding?" asked Ron, obviously amazed.

"I don't know," Ginny said, "she told me she had her own broom, but I never asked what it was. It looks like a…a…"

"A Silver Arrow!" Ron exclaimed, obviously dumfounded the girl was getting that kind of performance out of the vintage racing broom. "That's impossible!"

"Apparently not," Ginny replied. A voice from the ground interrupted their conversation.

"Mind giving me a hand?"

Harry and Ron both reached for the fallen Connor, and he rose as gracefully as the situation would allow.

"It's a shame," Katie said, "you'd be a natural Beater. Maybe you could take lessons."

"Yeah, um, I doubt it."

"Hello!"

Ron, Harry, Katie, and Ginny spun to see Natalie MacDonald behind them. She was even smaller on the ground, and the word that came to Harry's mind was _slinky_. Her broom, which was indeed a Silver Arrow, was quite a bit taller than she. None of them had even heard MacDonald talk before; she seemed very shy.

"Hi!" said Katie, warmly. "You looked really good out there!"

"Thanks," she said, grinning shyly. "I've always wanted to play Quidditch! I just love to fly!" She paused, looking at her broom, and Katie smiled.

"Well, it looks like you've got your chance. Provided you can catch the Quaffle." Natalie handed Ginny's broom back.

"I don't think that will be a problem."

"You're pretty good," Harry added. "I don't think I could have done some of those moves on my Firebolt. You could probably be a Seeker, if you wanted. I'll have to watch my back."

"Thanks! And you could fly like that if _I _had a go at it."

"What do you mean, 'have a go at it?'" Ron asked, squinting slightly.

"Well," she said, raising her broomstick and looking around to ensure that no one was listening, "this is souped up!"

"Souped up?" Ron asked.

"I'm not sure I like the sound of that," said Hermione, who had wandered over from the stands. "It sounds dangerous. And illegal! They have anti-tamper charms for a reason."

"This one doesn't have many," Natalie said, glancing at her broom. "Only what I've put on it. They made them different back then."

"I'm sorry," Hermione interrupted, "but how did you 'soup it up' without using magic?"

"Oh," said Natalie, "they aren't so rough on us at home. There aren't exactly a lot of people where I'm from."

"The let you do magic there?" Ginny asked, half envious and half scandalized.

"Well…they don't let us so much as they don't stop us."

"Er…Where _are_ you from, anyway?" Ron asked, looking at the pretty third-year.

"Guess!"

"Well, I know that's no English accent," he said.

"It's not American either," Harry added.

"Or Australian," Hermione chipped in.

"It's Canadian," supplied Connor from behind them. He stepped between Ron and Harry, and looked down and Natalie. She was absolutely tiny in front of him, yet she maintained her formidable presence.

"And you're American."

"Yep."

"Well," said the new Chaser, "nobody's perfect."

"No, but we do have Disney World."

"There is that," Natalie agreed sagely.

"That is a beautiful broom," Connor said, looking at the Silver Arrow, and he was right. The handle was silver olive, and the twigs were very carefully pruned and shaped. A small silver arrow emblem was embedded near the top, and the bands circling the brush were golden. The whole thing glowed as only something genuinely cared-for could.

"Thanks!" MacDonald said, blushing slightly, "I'd let you take it for a spin, but it's a little rough to keep hold of, if you don't know it. No offense."

"None taken," Connor replied, raising his hands. Ron and Harry both managed to tear their eyes away from the scarred wrists, though Ron muttered something in Harry's ear, and Harry nodded back quickly, willing his friend to not talk about it now.

"Brooms and I don't get along so well anyhow," Connor said amicably. "Not like you, anyway." He smiled again, and she blushed even more.

"Listen," Katie said, "we should use this to our advantage. No more of that fancy flying until our first match, okay? When people hear you're flying an Arrow, they'll think you've gone nuts!"

"But my Arrow could run rings around them!"

"Oh," said Ron, "we'll be counting on it. But as long as they think you're riding a dead broom, they won't be looking for a threat from you, will they?"

"I like that," she said, looking off towards the castle. "It's time they learn what can come in small packages."

"That's right!" Ron said, "I mean, look at dung bombs! They come in…" Ron stopped when he noticed the look of abject horror and total disbelief on Hermione's face. Harry looked to be on the verge of laughter, and Connor was again shaking his head. Natalie was looking up at him as though he were speaking an entirely different language, which, no doubt, was what Ron was probably wishing.

"Er…well,you know what I mean," he said, his ears starting to match his hair. "Forget about that…er…look, d'ya suppose you could take a look at my broom?"

"Ronald!" Hermione exclaimed, sounding very much like Ron's mother. "I absolutely forbid it!"

"But…"

"No!"

"But…"

"No! And believe me, I'll know!"

Connor was chuckling quietly, and Ron mumbled something under his breath, but didn't press the issue.

"Well," Harry said, glancing nervously at his companions, "I'm getting hungry." He started back to castle, and they followed, talking excitedly about their new secret weapon.


	7. Chapter 7 Recordatio

A/N: Thanks for the kind reviews, for those that have been reviewing. As a special treat, I've decided to fast-track chapter 7 for those who care  If there are any of you grammar whiz-types looking to beta, let me know. I've got a bad history with betas…for some reason I go through them at a fantastic rate. Thanks for reading!

PM

**Chapter 7 – Recordatio**

Harry watched as Hermione performed battery after battery of detection spells on his mother's pendent. They were carefully selected to narrow down the amulet's purpose, a bit at a time. The first spell indicated it was not cursed and not transfigured, but it was charmed in some way. The next group, which took nearly an hour to get through, indicated the magic had something to do with the mind. Harry and Hermione were taking turns, and by the time they'd finished, they had narrowed it down to a memory charm of some type, though Hermione could derive nothing else.

"I'm really sorry, Harry!" she said, after finally exhausting her last spell. "Perhaps you ought to ask Professor Flitwick. It really is his specialty."

"It's okay...we know loads more about it than we did. Maybe it's like a rememberall, or something."

"I should think it would be even more than that! Still, I wouldn't wear it until he's had a chance to give it a once over."

"But we just gave it a once over!"

"But I'm not perfect, Harry! What if I've forgotten something? What if it sucked out all of your memories, or even worse...what if we're totally wrong and it has nothing to do with memory charms? I've heard of necklaces that can do bad things!"

"I saw one that had killed…" Harry stopped suddenly, having realized that he had just said precisely the _wrong thing_. Hermione was staring at him with a horrified expression on her face. "It doesn't matter what I saw," Harry said, lamely, "I trust you."

"Well, maybe you shouldn't."

"You've never done anything but perform brilliantly!" Hermione had no response to that, other than to blush furiously. Harry felt his heart seize up on him, and it was a struggle for him to look away. He found himself thinking it wasn't fair. Hermione and Ron had something going on, and then he found himself wondering what, exactly, something was. Ron had said he kissed her, but then Harry had too, at times. Not real kisses, but they'd been there. Also, Harry had been attacking this year academically; she had to have noticed. Wouldn't she rather be around someone who studied as hard as she did? Wasn't that what she'd liked so much about Viktor Krum? Really, he and Viktor were very similar…they were both Seekers, both TriWizard champions, and if she went by this year, both very serious about their school work.

With some difficulty, Harry shook those thoughts out of his head before they could catch a foothold. Ron and Hermione were both his friends; it felt vaguely wrong to be pitting himself against one for the other. Hermione was looking at him again.

"Please take it to Professor Flitwick before you do anything with it...as a favor?"

"I'll do it Monday," he said. "Let's look at the gloves."

Despite Hermione's impressive catalogue of spells, and Harry's persistence, they were unable to determine anything about the gloves. They didn't seem to respond to anything either student knew; and in the end, Harry was forced to admit defeat and pack them carefully away, also to go to Professor Flitwick. Harry thanked her profusely and headed off to his Saturday evening Quidditch practice with part of a mystery solved, and his heart still aching slightly.

In Harry's opinion, Katie was every bit the team captain Wood had been. She had a different style: where Oliver had been concerned with complicated formations, Katie had them doing repetitive basic drills over and over. Harry, who normally spent practices hunting the Snitch, was included, as well as Ron. Natalie, as promised, was using a different broom. Harry didn't recognize it, but he knew it wasn't the Silver Arrow, and she kept her flying subdued as well. They spent the entire practice falling in and out of formation, leapfrogging, and tossing a double-weight Quaffle. Originally, Harry wasn't exactly sure if he'd approve of how she did things, but she was the team captain and he'd made up his mind not to interfere. Today's practice was proof to him that he'd made the right decision. After they'd returned to the common room, Ron pulled Harry aside.

"Do you have a minute, mate?"

"Sure," Harry said, noticing how nervous his friend looked.

"It's about Hermione..." he began, and then paused, looking around the common room. Harry's stomach leapt into his throat. Immediately, he wondered if Ron suspected something.

"It's about her birthday! I still haven't gotten her anything, and it's in five days! What did you get her?" This left Harry, who had been expecting the worst, momentarily stunned.

"I got her one of those quills that Connor has...the Quick Color Quill. They change the color of the ink. It's coming from France, but it's supposed to be here by tomorrow."

"That's bloody great...but I'm totally lost."

"Well, do you have any ideas?"

"None whatsoever. I keep thinking of all the things she's given us, but she already has them. None of the things I like would be good for her! You've got to help me out here!"

"Why me? You know her better than I do!"

"Perhaps," Ron agreed, "but look what you've gotten her! It's perfect!"

"Well...what about perfume, or some chocolates?"

"I don't know...they don't seem very Hermione, do they?"

"No," Harry agreed, "they don't."

"You haven't picked anything yet?" Ginny sat between Ron and Harry.

"It's about time you got here," Ron said. "I'm in a real fix."

Ginny looked around the common room, and saw Lavender and Parvati on the other end with some large star charts.

"Lavender! Parvati! Come over here a moment, would you?" They giggled at each other and approached Ginny and the two boys. Ron looked nearly terrified, and Harry almost started laughing himself. Lavender glared down at Harry, even though it was obvious that she was trying not to laugh.

"I supposed this is more drivel about the-"

"Shush!" Parvati interrupted. Ron continued to stare, oblivious to the inside joke of the prophecy. "What do you want? I mean, I assume you didn't just call us over to look at us." She struck a pose, and Harry and Ron were both momentarily silenced, while Ginny scowled slightly. Parvati giggled again and knelt next to them. "You didn't call us over just to look, did you?"

"Go on," Ginny prodded.

"Uh, no," Harry replied finally, "we're looking for a gift for someone...a girl I mean, and we need a little help." Ron was maintaining his silence, and Harry noticed he'd even blushed a little.

"Would that girl have a birthday coming up?"

"Er, yeah."

"Oooh," Lavender cooed, "she's going to be hard to buy for, too."

"Wait," Ron said, glancing around to make sure no one was watching. "You know who we're talking about?"

Lavender didn't reply, but the look on her face clearly said Ron was an idiot.

"Get _the book_," Ginny said.

Lavender spun on her heels and ran through the door that led to the girl's dormitories.

"Where's she going?" Ron asked.

"She's getting something," Parvati said. "So...how much are you looking to spend?"

Ron shrugged and Ginny looked at her hands, but Harry knew his friend was probably next to broke, so he spoke up for him.

"I don't think money is the first thing we should look at. Let's just find something nice."

Three hours later, both Harry and Ron were mentally numb. The girls, on the other hand, were all excitedly paging through a gigantic catalogue of jewelry. They must have pointed out a thousand rings, necklaces, broaches, cloak pins, and things that neither Harry nor Ron could identify. Finally, far too late into the evening, Ginny looked up from the pages of sparkling gems and shimmering gold.

"You'd better get serious if you're going to get her something out of here. They have a priority service, but even that takes two days."

Ron, who was looking at the vaulted ceiling, simply closed his eyes.

"I'm sunk."

Harry spent most of Sunday doing homework, but they also had their first D.A. meeting Sunday night. It was unusual to meet on a Sunday, at least for the D.A., but he wanted to pick a time for the very first meeting when most people would probably be free. Hagrid made good on his request by showing up, and though all of the students must have seen him, no one made any remarks. Hermione, as usual, was ready with an explanation.

"Last year, we were forced to do this without proper permission. This year, we've agreed to allow an instructor to attend our meetings, so there should be no question as to whether we're allowed to meet. That means there shouldn't be anyone raring to snitch," Hermione glared throughout the group, most of whom were members from last year. Harry felt that the group in this room was probably as trustworthy as they came, especially since most of them had heard about the Battle of the Ministry. From the rumors he'd caught, the news that he and his friends had taken on a group Death Eaters and lived to tell about it was making a serious impression. He was afraid they'd come back less willing to learn with Umbridge gone, but from the very first meeting this year it looked as though they were ready to try harder than ever. In Harry's opinion, that was a very good thing. He normally didn't want people to pay attention to him, but if they insisted, the least they could do was be impressed by the correct bits. Harry didn't mind a few questions about the ministry if it got more people into the D.A. and willing to participate - as long as they didn't ask about Sirius. He still had his limits.

They covered a surprising bit of ground in the first meeting. There was a basket of the phony galleons that Hermione had concocted to warn them of meetings; and they discussed having two meetings a week, just to keep up with the influx of new members. The room of requirement had roughly doubled in size, and Harry, who felt a group this large might be a bit much to take on anyway, was left wondering whether he wanted to sacrifice two nights a week to a cause in which he truly believed, or whether he ought to take those who showed the most desire to be involved. In the end, he hated to turn away anyone, so he decided that if the current number of students showed a genuine interest, he'd do the two meetings. He promised himself he could change that later, if it got to be a problem. Later, he came across Ron thumbing nervously through the gargantuan jewelry catalogue in their dormitory.

"I found out what Hermione wants for her birthday!" he explained. "I saw her looking through the book earlier, and she pointed out a necklace that she liked."

"Good one, mate! Now all you have to do is order it."

"Well, that's the problem," Ron said glumly, "the reason she's not buying it is because it's over her budget. She's set aside ten galleons and it's thirteen."

"Ouch," Harry said, and Ron nodded in agreement.

"I've made a little bit of money selling gags for Fred and George, but I don't have anything near thirteen galleons. I have one, maybe two."

"Well, perhaps you could borrow it?"

"No way, Harry. I'm not borrowing twelve galleons from you. One or two, maybe, but no way I'm borrowing twelve. I couldn't pay that off in five years! I don't know why I thought I could get her anything nice...it's hopeless."

"Is there any way you could make some more?"

"Not in three days. I hate this...I hate..." Ron paused then, and looked away. A minute later he slumped back into his bed, and after a bit, when it became obvious that he was either sleeping or not talking, Harry went to sleep.

After Muggle Studies on Monday, Harry took his mother's amulet and gloves to Professor Flitwick. He was expecting the professor to keep them for testing, as had happened with his Firebolt. To his surprise, the tiny wizard's bright eyes sparkled with familiarity at the sight of the pendant.

"Oh, dear! When Professor Dumbledore mentioned you'd recovered a few of your mother's things, this was what I dared to hope for!" Professor Flitwick held out his hand, and Harry dropped the necklace into his palm. "Yes, I hoped, and now here it is! So, tell me what you know of it!"

"Er, well, it isn't transfigured or cursed, but it is charmed. The charm seems to have something to do with memories, but we couldn't figure out exactly what."

"And how do you know all this?"

"Hermione and I tested it, but we could be wrong."

"No, no...you're quite correct. That girl is amazing! I happen to know what this particular pendant does, since I was there when your mother created it."

"You were?"

"Oh yes! It was her sixth year final project! And a fine one, as well. Magic such as this does not come easy! Tell me: are you familiar with any magical memory devices, remembralls, perhaps, or pensives?"

"Sure," Harry said, "I know about both of them. Neville has a remembrall and Professor Dumbledore has a pensive."

"The remembrall is one of the simplest magical gadgets relating to memories. It does only one thing: it reminds you that you've forgotten something! The pensive, on the other hand, is tremendously difficult to create. Remember that it takes memories, and thoughts in the forms of memories, out of your head...you can understand why the witch or wizard creating it would have to be the top of their craft before you'd even consider using one."

"Yes, sir. So what does that do, exactly?" Harry pointed at his mother's pendant, and Professor Flitwick held it up.

"This particular piece stores one memory, and only one. I don't precisely remember the procedure for replicating and storing the memory, but I'm sure I still have your mother's attendant report. To recover the memory, you simply hold the pendent, touch it with your finger, and say _Recordatio_." Professor Flitwick handed the pendent back to Harry. "You may wish to do that in private, Mister Potter. Memories can be powerful things."

"Thank you, Professor. So it's safe to wear?"

"Oh, without a doubt. Now, let's take a look at those gloves, shall we?"

Harry and Professor Flitwick subjected the gloves to many of the same spells Hermione had used, plus quite a few more. Harry actually knew one or two of them, but he'd never thought to use them to detect magic. Finally, Professor Flitwick was forced to admit a momentary defeat. He promised he'd get them back to Harry as soon as possible, and Harry, who was profoundly grateful, thanked the professor and went back to Gryffindor Tower.

"That's a nice quill," Harry said. For a moment, it looked as if Ron doubted that Harry was talking to him, mostly because his quill looked rather used and abused, which of course it was.

"What are you on about?"

"I'd sure like to buy that quill."

"This quill?"

"That quill. I want it. What'll you take for it?"

"Oh, no, Harry. Not this again."

"Look, Ron, you can either keep the quill or get Hermione her gift. You better hurry up though, because it's looking uglier by the minute."

"Harry..."

"Look mate, it's not like I'm just giving you money, is it? I mean, I am buying something here." He looked around the dormitory. "And no one's around, so I suggest you decide quickly, before someone comes. They might want your quill too, and I'm not outbidding them." What Harry really meant was "No one is around to see me giving you money," and Ron knew it.

He was clearly torn, and Harry could understand why. He'd been in much the same position as the Weasley family, until Hagrid had shown him his family vault. Six years wasn't long enough to forget how it felt to wear second-hand clothing and have things only after they were used, and he was reminded of just how it felt every summer when he went home. It was probably even worse when you wanted to buy a gift for someone and you couldn't afford to do that – up until Harry had gone to Hogwarts, he'd never known anyone worthy of a gift, and by then, he'd discovered his parents' vault. As far as Harry could see, there was no winning situation for his best friend. He tried to forget the gift was for Hermione. In his mind, he was giving the money to Ron; what Ron did with it after he got it was totally up to him.

"So what do you say? Willing to part with it?"

"How...how much?"

"You tell me."

"Three galleons?"

"Three galleons? It better turn ink into gold for that much! I'll give you two."

"Fine. That leaves me with ten galleons to go. I'm still sunk."

"Not so fast," Harry replied, "I'm not done yet." Within ten minutes, Harry had a sizable pile of Quidditch Weekly magazines, none of which were newer than four months old.

"Harry," Ron started, "this is..."

"I'd like these as well," Harry interrupted. "I've been running out of things to read lately. How's three galleons sound?" This was as ridiculous a lie as they came. Harry had been reading his school books backwards and forwards this year, and it seemed some of them had more of his writing in them than the authors'. Still, Ron's look of humiliation slowly faded to a grateful sort of shock.

"Er," Ron stammered, "more than fair? How about two?"

"Three it is!" Harry dropped the stack of magazines on the table next to his bed. Over the next half-hour, he managed to buy another two galleons' worth of generally useless stuff. By the end of the day, Ron had amassed seven galleons, three sickles, and fourteen knuts. When Dean and Seamus came in, both boys stopped their dealing immediately and retired to the common room, so that Ron could copy Harry's Transfiguration notes.

Harry had his Occlumency lesson that night, and spent a half-hour before getting ready. His book suggested that mental preparation was as important as ability, and it described several different ways to ready one's mind. Harry discovered the method that worked the best for him was total relaxation. Last year, he might have disbelieved anyone who suggested that; after all, it was when he was the most relaxed that he seemed to have problems with Voldemort getting into his mind. Now Harry understood that Voldemort had outguessed him, and let him discover things that weren't true. With the help of _Poking a Stick in the Mind's Eye_, he had learned it was easier for him to resist the probing and verbal jabs when his emotions were quelled. The book actually seemed to be well-written, and made more sense in general than the idea of Occlumency. It listed several techniques to help achieve this state, and Harry was taking turns with them, trying to discover which was best for him.

If Harry had gotten any better, Snape certainly didn't said anything about it. He still insulted Harry just as much, calling him names and describing exactly how arrogant and insignificant he felt Harry was, and lamenting the fact that he even had to deal with the Gryffindor troublemaker. Harry decided as long as he hadn't been kicked out Snape must be - at least in some part - satisfied. The pensive, so far, had remained out of sight. He still wasn't good enough to make it to the end of a lesson, progress or no progress, and in roughly forty-five minutes, Harry was on his way back to the Common Room with a splitting headache and serious thoughts as to what consequences would result from him inflicting willful harm upon a Professor.

He returned to find Ron engaged in a game of Wizard's Chess with a group of fourth years. Harry was no expert at chess, but he'd seen enough to recognize the current situation.

"Looks like you might lose this one, mate!" Harry said, goading on his red-haired friend.

"Lose? Are you bonkers? I've got them in five moves!"

"Care to place a little wager?"

"Ah, no," Ron said, with great certainty. "Absolutely not."

"Come on, live a little!" One of the fourth years was displaying a gleam in her eye that Harry knew well; he'd seen Ludo Bagman flash it before the first task of the Tri-Wizard Tournament.

"Yeah, Ron," added Harry. "What do you say, a galleon a piece? That's seven galleons...I know Ron's good for it." Two of the fourth years decided they'd had quite enough, and one was ambivalent, but four looked upon the chessboard as though it was just another new challenge. Harry briefly wondered if he might be taking advantage of their Gryffindor courage, but a quick look around assured him that Hermione was absent, and therefore he wasn't breaking any rules. The one with the Bagman gleam in her eye eagerly dug two galleons from her robes.

"I've got you covered, Em." Em was Emer Rath, one of the new reserve Chasers for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. She looked doubtful, but in the end left her friend's money stacked on the table. The other three placed their coins upon the table as well, which drew a bit of a crowd.

"So that's five galleons to the winner," Emer's friend said. "You said you could do it in five moves, so that's what you've got."

"Ten," Ron replied, "I was just boasting." Harry stepped in.

"How about seven?" Harry noticed Ron didn't look particularly worried, and he knew his friend well enough to know that if there was anything worth worrying about, Ron would.

"Ten it is then," said the fourth year gambler. "Let's hurry this along a bit, shall we?"

At first, it looked as if the fourth year group was going to simply prevent Ron from the checkmate by keeping him in a stalemate. A knight and a bishop kept him tied up for four moves.

The game ended when one of the fourth years foolishly placed his knight in a position where Ron was able to capture it en passant. It was a beginner's mistake, but one for which Ron was thankful. It ended the stalemate, and Ron triumphantly went on to force the checkmate in exactly seven moves. A groan went up through the fourth years at the same exact moment a shriek echoed through the common room. The crowd scattered like drops of quicksilver.

"And just what is going on here?" Before he'd even seen Hermione's face, Ron had pocked his money and vaulted up the stairs to the dormitories. He wasted no time feeling conflicted over Harry's many dubious tactics to give him funds enough for the necklace; instead grabbing the envelope that had been ready to post since Sunday night. The small print in the catalog made clear that sending more than two galleons via Owl Post was not recommended or insured, so Harry instead had filled in the form with the account of the trust that was set up for him at Sirius's bequest. It wasn't that he didn't trust the company selling the baubles...he just didn't need another Daily Prophet article wondering who he was sweet on now. The trust fund, which was technically called the Black Phoenix Trust, was nicely anonymous. At first, Ron refused to even look at it, but as soon as he reached the dormitories after the chess game, he pushed all of the money he'd collected into Harry's hands.

"Quick, we've got to get to the owlry! I might make it after all!"

Harry and Ron rushed out under the invisibility cloak, and with the help of the Marauder's map, avoided any run-ins. Hedwig and Pigwidgeon were both ecstatic to see them, hooting and unseating the other owls with their fluttering. Pigwidgeon nearly exploded in his excitement; and Ron was too excited to even scold him, snatching him from the air as if the tiny owl was a Golden Snitch. He wasted no time attaching the order to Pig's leg, and whispered in his ear. The diminutive owl shot from Ron's hand directly through the window and into the night, leaving a floating comet-tail of down in his wake. Hedwig gave Harry a dirty look and flew up to the rafters, where she refused to acknowledge him any further, in spite of his modest pleas. He didn't feel up to a fight with his owl tonight, though, and didn't try very hard.

Instead, he looked to the money in his hand.

"Ron, you've given me too mutch!"

"What?"

"You've given me too much, mate! The shipping was thirteen sickles, and you've given me fourteen galleons. I owe you four sickles, which I haven't got." Harry handed his friend a galleon instead. "That's all I've got on me." He could see Ron was about to open his mouth, so he headed the forthcoming argument off before it even got started. "You can buy me a butterbeer the next time we have a Hogsmeade weekend. That'll make us even, that's about four sickles."

Ron thought about that for a moment. Something in the wording seemed slightly off, but he couldn't figure out what it was.

"Yeah, alright." He slipped the galleon back into his pocket. Harry wasn't a quick talker, but sometimes you didn't have to be, when it came to Ron Weasley.

The next morning, Harry's furniture had again been defaced.

"Bloody hell!" he exclaimed. Not being one for such language, he attracted Ron's attention.

"Here, mate! What's your problem? It's only just seven, you can't be angry yet."

"Look!" Harry said, pointing to a spot on his table. To Ron, it looked as if it had been scratched with a knife. Seamus, who'd wandered up behind them, voiced his opinion.

"Looks like you've got a friend, Potter. Who'd do something like that?"

"I don't know!"

"Well," Ron said, "It's never happened before." His intentions were obvious as both he and Seamus glared at the empty bed normally occupied by Connor. Neither cared much for the American, who had kept his distance. They'd accepted him after Harry told the story about what happened in the dungeon with Snape, but he still seemed to rub them all, with the exception of Harry and Neville, the wrong way.

"That's right," Finnigan added. "Don't you think it's odd that he's always gone when we wake up?"

"He runs in the mornings!" Neville said, defending his friend. "Why would he do such a thing, he doesn't have a problem with Harry!" Harry felt Neville was probably right. If it was Connor, he'd carve the dirty words on the desks of those people who didn't treat him well. That certainly wouldn't be Harry. There was something else, though, something he'd thought of the first time this had happened and forgot.

"Connor wasn't sleeping here the first time this happened."

"That doesn't mean he couldn't have just walked in," Ron said, clearly not impressed.

"You have to admit," Dean added from behind Seamus, "it is bloody suspicious. I, for one, don't trust him. I'll be keeping a better eye on him from now on."

"Oh, come off it," Neville flared. He didn't say anymore, instead choosing to leave for breakfast, which was probably a good thing. The crowd around Harry's bureau dispersed, and Harry steeled himself for another round of double-long Potions.

Mercifully, it was uneventful and silent. Draco Malfoy seemed particularly dour; content to remain in the back corner and skulk with Pansy Parkinson and Theodore Nott. Harry would never turn down an opportunity to silence Malfoy; but, in this case, he was a little nervous imagining what the Slytherin prefect was dreaming up. Connor was also keeping to himself, and Harry thought he knew why. He'd caught a glimpse of the American and Neville in the hallway before class. This was nothing new; Neville was still trying to get into Potions and Connor had been taking notes for him since the start of the year. Today, however, Neville probably had a few things to add to their normal small-talk. Connor hadn't looked at Harry through the entire class, and there was a strained charge in the air. After class, Harry approached Connor directly.

"Look, I don't think you did it, it's just the other guys can be a little rough. We've been together since we started school, anyone new is going to cause a few ripples."

"Right," said Neville who had slipped in behind them when Harry wasn't looking. "Except what he really means is: Anyone who makes the witches of Hogwarts swoon like Connor can go straight to hell."

"Now, Neville," Hermione began, but Neville interrupted her.

"Now, nothing! Do you know how I get treated? Oh, it's just Neville, just Neville! Don't worry if he melts a cauldron or…or gets blown up...that's to be expected...it's just Neville! Well maybe you didn't notice this, which would be a first for you, her know-it-all highness, but Connor has been the first one to ever respect me for what I can do. Maybe you should look at some of the people who've had a history of being jackasses, instead of the ones with a history of being kind!" Neville stormed off, leaving the other Gryffindors to stand in guilty silence.

Harry was reminded of Snape's memories of his father and their group...James and Sirius had been two of the most popular students at Hogwarts, and two of the more likely to single out others. He wished he could see more memories; perhaps some of the decent James that everyone claimed he'd been later on.

_Why can't you?_ asked a voice in his head. He had his mother's pendent, and be knew why he hadn't done anything with it. Hagrid, Sirius, and Remus had all mentioned that Lily hadn't gotten on well with James until late in their schooling. Though he desperately wanted to use it, he was afraid of what he would see. He knew it couldn't be as bad as Snape's memories, but he'd never really met his father, and had to resort to imagining what he was like. He'd discovered over the last few years that whatever he may have imagined correctly, he'd also missed things, things other people had repeatedly told him. His father was arrogant. He was also cruel, at least at times. He looked up to see Connor shifting from foot to foot, which brought him back to his current situation.

"Look, I'm sorry, mate," Harry said to Connor, who simply shrugged and looked as if he didn't want to be anywhere near the Potions dungeons and the arguing Gryffindors. "I don't think you did it, I really don't, and I'll say something to Dean and Seamus the next time I see them."

"And I'll talk to Ron," Hermione added. Connor remained silent, and he stayed that way for the rest of the day.

That Saturday, Harry found himself alone in the dormitory, considering their chances to retake the Quidditch cup. It had been a long practice, and he'd gone back to his bed for an early night. Even with a light class load, Harry was still doing a lot of work, and he was often worn out.

As he pondered their new Red and Gold strategies and plays, he realized something cold was pressing into the back of his neck. Harry sat bolt upright and groped for the chain he was wearing, lifting his mother's pendant over his head and examining it in the last bits of light that shone feebly through the high dorm windows at this late hour. The Quidditch players would be returning soon, and the time had come for him to see what memory, if any, his mother had deemed worthy of being stored forever. Was he ready for that? He took a deep breath.

"_Recordatio_."

Instead of the half-falling, half-being jerked sensation the pensive produced, Harry was suddenly spinning in a circle, until he came to rest in a room he vaguely recognized as the prefect's lavatory, on the fourth floor. It looked nearly the same as he remembered it, except there were several mermaids upon the wall instead of just the one, and at the moment, they were all lined up at the near side of the pool-sized bath, trying to catch a glimpse of the two other people in the room.

A young lady with auburn hair was kneeling behind a boy, who was sitting, facing the bath. Her robes had the looked as if they were normally immaculate, but were at the moment quite disheveled. The boy's back was covered with bruises, cuts, and scrapes, and Harry saw several in almost the exact shapes of shoe soles and boot heels. The redhead, his mother, was dabbing at the multitude of cuts with a white cloth, and there was a small box next to her that was loaded with jars of salves and balms. Every once in a while, the boy – his father – Harry realized, would wince and suck in a breath. They looked to be his age, so Harry guessed this was either their sixth or seventh year. Harry had never imagined that anything could do something like that to his father. Was it a Quidditch accident? Could this have been the day after a full moon? Harry knew first hand what kind of damage Remus was capable of in his werewolf form. The foot-shaped bruises told Harry otherwise. His mother whispered something he didn't catch, and he moved forward to get a better look and to hear what they were saying.

"...Rosier and Avery were the only ones I recognized," said his father, "but there were three others. Damn Sirius!"

"Where is he, anyway? Usually, when someone gets hurt, he's not far behind."

"Usually, when someone gets hurt he does it. As for where he is...hell if I know," James Potter replied sourly. "His motorbike is missing. Do a head count of the fourth through seventh year girls. If he would have been there, I wouldn't have had a problem."

"I thought there were five of them?"

"So?" James looked absolutely confused, as if the thought of him and Sirius losing to five or more people in a fight was beyond belief.

"But why, James? Why couldn't you wait for Remus?"

"Remus is still ill, and he will be for a few more days. They had Pete. Who knows what those sick bastards would have done." Lily shook her head.

"What did Peter do to get involved in all this?"

"He got caught alone in the hall, is what he says. Knowing Pete, I can't imagine he'd have shot his mouth off to them all by himself. I mean sure, maybe if we were there, but..."

"What was he doing wandering the halls alone?"

"He said he thought we were mad at him. I don't know why...we haven't done anything extraordinarily mean..." Noticing the conspicuous silence from Lily, he added, "lately."

"As terrible as you are to the poor boy, that doesn't surprise me." She hit a particularly sore spot on his back and he shuddered, nearly falling into the bath. Lily slipped her left arm under his and around his chest, and falling backwards, managed to keep James mostly dry. She remained seated behind him, with her legs on either side of him, leaning over his left shoulder. Harry had to move very close to hear them now. He could see a small tinge of red where James had bled into the water.

"…I told him our friends had to have thick skin, and our enemies had to have dragon-hide armor. Honestly, he needs to learn that whatever we say, he's still our friend."

Lily didn't say anything. She just remained pressed against James, her head rested upon his shoulder and arms around his battered body. They stayed that way for an agonizing eternity, until she finally spoke.

"My James, charging in against terrible odds to rescue poor Peter!"

"Oh, so I'm your James now?"

"You know, in your current condition, I could probably drown you."

"Your James, without a doubt." James Potter placed his scuffed hands over his future wife's. Eventually, Harry noticed that the room had grown gradually darker, and was dimming more by the moment. This must be the end of the memory. Harry didn't want it to end; he was still sorting through all the feelings he had. He knew he was angry at whoever would do that to his father. The remark James had made about them not doing anything terrible to their friend lately also bothered him. And, where was Sirius? He could guess that Lupin was recovering from a transformation, but Sirius should have been there for his friend. And to think his father had taken this kind of beating for the treacherous rat Wormtail - that made Harry fume. It was probably a good thing he passed directly from the memory in the amulet to a deep sleep, because when he awoke to an empty dormitory the next day, he'd had a chance to cool off. For now, he knew exactly what he had to do.

He went straight to his chest, digging the mirror from the jumper in which it was wrapped. He took a deep breath and spoke the word that activated it.

"Friend." After minute or two, the mirror flashed blue and Dumbledore was peering out at Harry.

"Harry? Is something amiss?"

"No, sir," Harry said, "I was actually looking for Remus. I wanted to ask him some questions about Sirius and my dad."

"Ah." They both paused for a bit, waiting. "Remus doesn't appear to be available. Perhaps I could help?"

"Thanks, but I don't think you'd know. I was just wondering about a fight my father might have gotten into."

"Ah...he did seem to have a...propensity. I believe you were correct in ascertaining that you'd need Remus's help. I only kept up with the, shall we say, most pressing issues? Is there anything else I can do for you, Harry?"

"Not today, Headmaster; thanks."

"Then enjoy your weekend."


	8. Chapter 8 Spatium Sinus

**Author's Note**

Sorry this is a bit late. I don't really have an excuse, since it's been written for a while now, except that I was taking a bit of a break from writing. It helps to come back refreshed. I read the 6th book, which I personally enjoyed, even though parts of it kind of sucked. I hope you all enjoyed it and that you'll continue to read this story even after the HBP came out. I'm also working without a Beta at the moment, so you may see a few more errors than I'd like. If anyone is interested in helping me out, drop me a line. Also, I don't spell check the author's note, and it shows...my spelling is atrocious. Sorry about that.

This is a shorter chapter, because both 7 and 9 were longer ones, and I figured the reader could use a break in between them :) It's also slightly less continguous, which happens occasionally with JKR as well.

Jenn, BabyWrestler, Tryoku, Crow, Cecilia, Laurana, Canis Major, daft, Chris, bewittching, and kitty, thanks for the reviews! It gets discouraging to not get any feedback on something on which you've worked so hard. I write this story because I'm forced to - because I know that I won't get anything else productive done until it's out and finished, but it because of you people that I'm able to keep going :P It makes me feel loved!

Jenn - I'm glad you like it :) I wish I had more reviews too, but if you keep coming back, it'll take some of the sting out of it.

Crow - I appreciate your attention to detail. One of JKR's favorite things is to include a load of small, meaningless details, one or two of which will play some rediculously significant role later on. I hope to have a better average, but I like to think that the details help make the story stick better, and I like the challenge of weaving them into the story until they feel like they belong.

Daft - I'm glad you like the dialogue. It's one of the areas I revise the most often because I think its so important that it comes off as natural. Since I'm not a brit, it'll never be great, but the closer I can get to unobtrusively "right" the better I feel.

Canis - I love canadians and sometimes, if I'm really lucky, they love me!

Kitty - that is about the best compliment I could have gotten.

Laurana - nicole? Do you mean Natalie? If so, she's cannon, and her story is so inspiring that I couldn't help but want her to play a bigger role in my story. Based on the canadians I know, I like to think she'd fit right in up there. I promise that Connor isn't there for no reason ;) Also, I'll do my best to make sure that he's not a mary-sue type OC. I think I've done okay by that so far.

Cecilia - who does it remind you of? (or "Of whom does it remind you? if you're being grammatical ;D) Lupin? Also, I love your name. It's the name of a character in a screenplay I wrote once, and of the sequal story.

Tryoku - Your wish is my command :) I write other stories as well, though this is the only fanfic. If you're ever interested in reading one, let me know :)

Much love to you all!

Pat McClellan

**/Author's Note**

**Chapter 8 – Spatium Sinus**

"I'm not giving you the silent treatment, Harry. I just don't have anything to say…and there are other things on my mind." Connor had remained aloof since the last 'dirty word' incident, and Harry had been trying over and over to convince him the sixth year students weren't really that bad.

"Well, what are they? Maybe I can help you out."

"I doubt it. In fact, it would probably be best if you didn't even know about them."

"Suit yourself," Harry replied. "I'm only trying to help.

"I know, and I appreciate it, but you've got enough on your plate." They were walking to the library to study Potions and Transfiguration. Other than the issues the men of Gryffindor had with Connor, he fit in well with Harry's group of friends. Hermione was pleased to have found someone who took History of Magic seriously, and Neville was excited that Connor was a fellow botanist. He wasn't nearly as good as Hermione with Potions, or Neville at Herbology, but he had a knack for explaining what he did know, so he was alright with Harry, who sometimes felt he needed all the help he could get. Ron waffled back and forth between distrusting Connor and using him to threaten and mock Malfoy, which made him nearly as happy as playing Quidditch. Ginny, much to Dean's chagrin, had begun running with the tall American in the mornings. She claimed she had wanted to before, but had never felt entirely safe from Malfoy and his goons. At this, Ron swore and promised he'd take Connor's place, and he even tried once or twice, but getting up early in the morning apparently wasn't in Ron's nature.

Hermione and Neville were already in the library, and Connor was paging through his notes before they even sat down. Hermione was explaining something to Neville; Harry didn't catch it all, but he was pretty sure it had to do with human transfiguration, which they were due to start this year.

"So you can get whole new teeth, or you can re-grow the ones you have?" Neville asked. Hermione smiled and pointed towards her own front incisors.

"I've had these done, and you can't even tell!" Neville, who had largish front teeth himself, looked impressed and wistful.

"Now I wish I'd stayed in Transfiguration. My wand has really improved my magic! I bet I could handle it..."

"I think we're due to run through teeth next month. Maybe I can help you out. It'd be good practice!"

Harry didn't know if he'd want to subject his teeth to "practice," even if it was Hermione holding the wand, but he kept his mouth shut. It wasn't his discussion.

"Mouths next month," Connor said, "noses and eyes in November, ears and hair in December, and then full body stuff after that."

The American slipped his wand from his sleeve and tapped the parchment. It was the first time they'd ever seen it up close, and it, like its owner, was unique. Neville's eyes widened and immediately the whole group leaned in as if they were sharing a communal secret.

"Oh look! It's beautiful!" Hermione couldn't contain herself as she saw the golden-grained wand glow in the faint light of the library. Neville vehemently thrust out his hand and Connor handed it over for inspection.

"_Olneya Tesota_," said Neville, beaming proudly, "Ironwood." He hefted it a few times and then waved it through the air. Red sparks hung like a ribbon of glittering smoke.

"It likes you," Connor was smiling slightly. It looked a bit foreign on his face, as though he hadn't done it enough lately to keep up with the proper movements. Though it appeared at first to be an anatomical impossibility, Neville's grin grew even wider.

"What core?"

"Iemisch claw."

"Ooooh…Water Tigers?" Hermione seemed positively giddy. Connor looked both pleased and surprised that she knew of them.

"I've never seen one except for in books…what are they like up close?" Connor's reply was characteristically concise.

"Dangerous."

The next day, Harry again tried to contact Remus, but he realized even before anyone had appeared in the mirror that last night had been the full moon, and Remus would likely be very ill. He waited long enough for Professor Dumbledore to appear in the mirror to explain he'd forgotten Remus would be unavailable, and then went to meet the Quidditch team for practice.

After practice, Harry helped Katie carry the equipment back to the storage shed.

"Well," Katie said, her eyes flashing, "what do you think? Do we have a chance?"

"We're fast, that's for sure! But there was something I wanted to tell you. About the team, I mean." She looked at him expectantly, and Harry wondered how to phrase it.

"You've really pulled us together…I don't think we've been this close since Wood captained. Maybe not even then. It feels like we're a family, and I think it's almost all because of you." Katie didn't say anything, and for a moment, Harry thought she may be about to laugh at him. Then she embraced him in a solid hug and kissed him squarely on the lips.

It was the least opportune time possible for Ron to walk in, so of course he did, stopping dead in his tracks and staring at his Quidditch captain and his best friend. Katie broke away quickly.

"Ron!"

"Yeah!" Harry added. "I…"

"I'm not even going to ask, _sweetheart_. Just don't get me involved when some seventh-year is looking to thump you." He continued on with what he was doing, making a point out of ignoring them. Harry and Katie slunk out, blushing madly and going opposite ways without looking at each other. It was only the second time he'd been kissed on the lips, but it was certainly much better than the first. For one, Katie didn't seem in any way weepy. Kissing seemed much nicer when you weren't getting wet. That made Harry think of Hermione, and he struggled to get something else into his mind. He didn't need to start pouting over her again; especially when Ron probably already thought he fancied Hermione, Parvati, and Katie.

On the way back to the castle, Harry forced himself to do some of his Occlumency exercises. He'd only had marginal success so far, though not for lack of trying. Snape hadn't kicked him out again, so that was a plus. Harry didn't know if his mind was more or less impervious…he hadn't had any thoughts or nightmares that felt like Voldemort rooting around in his head, so maybe he was keeping the dark wizard out. Or perhaps Voldemort was keeping Harry out. Either way, the exercises helped clear his mind of the more immediate events in his life.

Later, he was alone in his dormitory room except for Neville, who was quietly tending to his plants. When Ron entered, he seemed to have forgotten about Harry and Katie, because he started right in with talk about Quidditch formations.

"I've got red and gold numbers running through my head in my sleep. Katie is really pounding them into us. I hope it's worth all the work."

"Well, you're a Keeper. You don't have to worry about the formations so much, do you? I've been paying attention, but honestly our jobs are a little different, you know?"

"Yeah, I guess. It's just kind of amazing to see her taking charge…you don't expect it out of her, do you?"

"Not by looking at her. I saw that Hermione was wearing her birthday gift. It looks nice, mate."

"Thanks. She told me she's considering making something like your mother's. She said I ought to help, that it would be good practice."

"It probably would be," Harry agreed. "Say, have you noticed anything about Hermione lately?"

"Like what?"

"Well, she seems kind of…I don't know…cranky in the last few days. Is she mad at me?" Ron immediately blushed.

"It's…er…girl things, Harry."

"Girl things?"

"Yeah."

"I don't…" Harry trailed off.

"You know. Oh, come on! Don't make me say it!"

"_Woman_ things," Neville added, looking oddly contemplative. Harry immediately started to blush.

"Oh. Oh. Oh, I'm sorry, mate. I er…yeah. Okay." Harry blushed as well, and to Ron's great relief, immediately changed the subject.

That Monday, Harry was sitting in his Temporalism class. He had nothing on his mind but what they were about to attempt; for the moment, the events of the past weekend were all but forgotten. Professor Walken was pacing in front of them, lecturing about the relationship between dimensional space and time. All the students seemed quite excited, because this was the day they were to begin working on their first true time magic: the _Spatium Sinus_ charm. They were only going to learn a handful of actual spells this year, and everyone in the class was eager to be working on something other than theory.

"Please stand, but remain in your place," Professor Walken glanced around the room, surveying where each student stood. When he was satisfied with what he saw, he announced "All right, I want you to pair up with the person I call off…Mister Weasley and Mister Macmillan. Miss Granger and Miss Chang. Mister Potter and Mister Nott…wait, Potter and Nott, I'm not sure I want you two together.

"I can stand him if he can stand me," Nott volunteered. Professor Walken pulled them both aside and whispered to them "It's not as much whether you can stand each other that concerns me. I'm…" he dropped his voice even more, glancing around to ensure that no one heard them. "I'm trying to place people in groups with an average magical ability…" Seeing Nott's face, he clarified, "I want to make sure each group is about the same as every other, magically. You're going to be working together to cast this charm, and though I don't want to give either of you a big head, you're both a bit more powerful, magically, than most."

"Oh," Nott said.

"Ah," Harry added.

"Yes. So, if you wish, I'll leave you placed together, because I know you are both particularly attentive in class. You _can_ stand each other for five minutes or so? You may easily be stuck in that bubble for that long, maybe even longer, working together."

"We'll make it," Nott said. Harry remained quiet. He didn't know Nott that well; the boy was an enigma.

"Alright," Professor Walken said, and moved on. When he was done forming groups he gave them last minute instructions and information, most of which Harry and Nott already knew, because they'd gone over it in class before.

"This is the _Spatium Sinus_ charm. Who can tell me what that means? Miss Chang?"

"Space Pocket."

"Very good. Five points to Ravenclaw. _Spatium Sinus_ creates a pocket in space, or as you'll see when you hopefully create one, a bubble. This bubble is formed around the caster or casters, and takes up no three-dimensional space objectively to those outside it. The amount of space on the inside depends upon the caster or casters. This should be information you all know. _If_ you manage to create a temporal pocket, and _if_ you are in that bubble for more than fifteen minutes, I will come in and get you, whether you want me to or not.

"_Spatium Sinus_ is not incredibly dangerous, as long as you or someone who knows where you have gone can perform the _Spatium Tornare, _or as some people call it, the _Step_. We will learn that as a class later on this year, but I can do it quite well, so, as long as I'm here, you are very safe.

"Now, I need you to take your partner's hand – don't be shy, we're all grown ups." Harry could see Hermione and Cho Chang scowling at each-other, and Ron looked as if he dearly wanted to trade partners. Nott's hand was cool and dry, and he had a grip that was neither firm nor limp. Harry could feel his heartbeat in his ears as he attempted to loosen his grasp on his wand.

"Now," Professor Walken said loudly, "just as we've practiced…on three. One, two, three…"

"_Spatium Sinus_ echoed through the room, and with the sound of a vibraphone or very soft bell, Harry and Theodore Nott found themselves inside a faintly translucent blue bubble. Everything appeared to have moved outward at the same time. It made Harry's eyes throb, so he closed them as he leaned against the side of the bubble and slid down it. He didn't know what to say to Nott, so he just kept his mouth closed.

"Wow," Nott said, "I think I see Professor Walken out there…and a few people…Weasley and Chang, it looks like...hmm. They must not have been able to pull it off. Rather odd looking out like this. Gives me a bit of a headache."

"Yeah," Harry said, "I think I'll just refrain from looking too much." After a minute of silence he added, "so, uh…how's Slytherin?" _How's Slytherin?_ Harry would have kicked himself, if his legs would have bent that way.

"Full of Slytherins," Nott replied nonchalantly. "How's Gryffindor?"

"Oh, you know, full of Gryffindors."

"That's a shame," Nott replied. "It wouldn't be so bad if it didn't have so many Gryffindors in it." Harry laughed in spite of himself. Even though Nott was making fun of his house, it seemed casual, and certainly not personal.

"So you don't mind me, eh?"

"Not particularly."

"I thought I was the enemy of all the true Slytherins."

"Most of them," Nott acknowledged. "Of course, most everyone is the enemy of most true Slytherins. They have a problem with sharing, it would seem."

"But you don't?"

"I have a different view."

"So why are you there?"

"What do you mean, why am I there? Because I'm cunning and ambitious, and not to be trusted. Why are any of us there?"

"Well, Malfoy seems to be cunning, ambitious, and not to be trusted. You don't seem much like him."

"Ah yes…Malfoy. Well, he has certain advantages I don't, so I have to make do." Harry thought Nott sounded a bit resentful.

"You're better off, anyway," Harry said, "Malfoy is a first-class git. What use is being all-powerful if you're stuck being like _him_?"

"I have news for you, Harry. Malfoy is _far_ from all-powerful. If he thinks that his old man having a load of galleons to blow on getting his way makes him some kind of all-powerful anything, then he's been sadly misinformed."

"What about Voldemort?" Nott didn't flinch as much as most of the students did, and Harry noticed a look of distaste cross the Slytherin's face.

"Voldemort makes a good Slytherin. Anyone that would be content to follow him though...They seem to forget the Dark Lord does not share power. Anyone who thinks otherwise has simply bought into a dream." Nott shook his head. "Sadly, they just put us in Slytherin when we're ambitious. There aren't any provisions about brains, or common sense, or a proper sense of pride."

"A proper sense…what are you talking about?"

"No one ever said we had to defile ourselves to become great."

"Wouldn't some people argue that you should do whatever it takes?"

"Sure, if you're inadequate. The problem is some people-- I don't need to mention names-- can't tell the difference between 'easy' and 'anything it takes.' There are certain…people…and someday I will look into their faces and know that no matter how they debased themselves, no matter whom they cheated, how much they lied, and what they started off with, I still beat them…and they'll know it too. After they take the easiest path, when they've bartered off all their humanity for the chance to grovel at my feet, only to discover that I've beaten them with my honor intact; then they will understand despair." Harry digested this for a while.

"Bit chilling, isn't it?"

"If you wanted cuddly, perhaps you should have held out for a Hufflepuff. Bones is passable, I hear. Consider, Harry, why you so enrage Slytherin…you are obviously one of the most powerful wizards of the age; and yet your honor prevents you from even considering what some of them have been doing since they were old enough to figure it out."

"I don't feel like one of the most powerful wizards here."

"Then it's a good thing it doesn't require your assent to make it so."

"So your whole game is to be civil to me so when you beat me, I'll feel worse about it?"

"No. It's not just you, and it's not just everyone else. Ambition isn't entirely evil. I simply hold a great deal of contempt for those who act totally without honor, and I intend to prove to them how much more powerful I am by beating them according to my standards. There are plenty of witches and wizards from Slytherin that aren't in any way evil."

"Like who?"

"Well, do you think I'm evil?"

"I don't know." Harry thought about it. He remembered the name Nott being mentioned in the graveyard after the final task of the Triwizard tournament during his fourth year. There couldn't be that many of them around. "So you aren't interested in becoming a Death Eater, then?"

"I thought I'd made that abundantly clear."

Harry thought for a bit. They'd been in the bubble for nearly eight minutes now, and it didn't show any signs of fading.

"Why not? I mean, besides their lack of honor, or whatever."

"Potter, consider this: Why do people become death eaters?"

"Power, I suppose. They hate non-pure blood wizards and Muggles."

"Do you think Voldemort shares power? Really?"

"Well, no. I mean, he does a little…he let's people do bad things."

"Things they couldn't do on their own?"

"Er…well no, I guess not."

"And do you think he'll ever share it?"

"Well, I don't know. No, probably not."

"And he'll never let another grow more powerful than him."

"I wouldn't think so."

"So why," Nott asked, "would I ever _give up_ my power to the likes of him, and virtually assure myself that I will never rise above a level he would consider dangerous to himself?"

"That's…a good point. How do I know you're not lying or tricking me?"

"I suppose you don't," Nott said. They sat in silence for a good minute before Nott spoke again. "I know – it's a misguided sense of nobility, isn't it?"

"Well, maybe that nobility got you into this class. Professor Walken did say we all could have been sorted into other houses."

"That's possible. You don't know that for a fact though, so you'd still be best off being quite perceptive around me. I am, after all, cunning, ambitious, and not to be trusted."

"And I'm too brave for my own good, so I'll take my chances, for now. You know," Harry said, pushing himself upright against the back of the bubble, "you're not half-bad." It was the best compliment his pride would allow him to deliver to a Slytherin. Around them, the temporal bubble started to flicker.

"Actually, I am," Nott replied gracefully. "On my father's side." With a _whish_ of fresh air, the bubble dissolved, and Harry, who had just been rising to his feet, stumbled backwards. He found himself tightly in the grip of Cho Chang. She glared at him and pushed him away, and Ron caught him by the shoulders. Harry could tell his friend was about to say something, and moved to interrupt him. Hermione beat him to it.

"Well, we can't keep you two apart…can we?" Her timing was excellent, and Cho bit back whatever comment she had been about to make. Ron laughed, even though it sounded a bit forced, and Harry righted himself. Hermione slid an arm around Harry's neck and guided him and Ron away, avoiding any further exchanges. She was polite enough to nod at Nott, who returned a barely perceptible flick of the head. Ron chose to ignore the Slytherin completely, which Harry felt was probably for the best.

"Well," Ron said, referring instead to Cho, "at least she didn't leak on you, hey mate?"

"Yea…there is that. My streak is broken."

"Well, there's always next time."

As they headed to the door, Professor Walken shouted out their homework assignment. "For next Thursday, I want fourteen inches on the differences and similarities of the _Tempus Sinus_ and _Spatium Sinus_ charms."

"Fourteen inches!" Ron hissed miserably. Harry smiled to himself, thinking about how last year; it would have taken him a weekend to do. He was willing to bet he could sit down and write that paper now, if he had too. It felt good to achieve.


	9. Chapter 9 Another Week in the Life

**author's note**

Dolli – Thanks J :) - I can believe you read it all at once…I do it all the time. I forget sometimes what I wrote, and then I read it and I'm like…I did that? That's CLEVER/MORONIC :D I'm a perpetual source of amusement, for myself.

Jenn – Much 3 for your words of encouragement.

Crow – I appreciate your love of the mundane parts of the writing. They're the once I put a lot of work into, since that's what makes the difference sometimes between being a work of fiction you _could_ see and being one you _do_ see. Also, I'm glad to have done something original…as much as I strive, I have to face reality and observe that in all probability, not much in my fic will be totally unique. I hope enough of it is to really give it its own life. I really appreciate your continued feedback.

As penance for my sins of not updating for too long, I'm going to put up chapter 10 today as well, and then chapter 11 (I hope) by the end of next week. This is also a slightly longer chapter, at 16 pages in word format.

**/author's note**

**Chapter 9 – Another Week in the Life**

"Mister Colier! What _are_ you doing?"

"I'm shorry professhor."

Malfoy, who was standing with a group of Slytherins directly behind Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Connor, was openly laughing.

"That's _enough_, Mister Malfoy! Is there something amiss with your wand, Mister Colier?"

"No Ma'am. Ish jush toushy today."

"I can see that. Those teeth are four inches long!" The professor extended her hand and Connor handed his wand to her. She gave it a slight flick, and Connor's teeth were now far too short.

"Typically American," she said with a frown, glaring down her nose at the golden wood, "over powered and under-precise. Be careful where you point it, Mister Colier." She waved her own wand and Connor's teeth were suddenly back to normal.

"I told you I shouldn't be here," Connor said glumly, as the Professor moved on to other groups.

"Nonsense," Harry said, "that kind of thing happens all the time."

"Of course it does," Malfoy added, from behind them. "Honestly, I don't understand why you're surprised – after all, you have to live with yourself. You of all people should understand how incompetent you really are."

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry spat.

"Or you'll do what? Threaten me? Try to fight me like a Muggle?" Suddenly, Malfoy stood bolt upright.

"Feel that?" hissed Ron, who had slipped behind Malfoy while they were arguing, "it's a wand. How'd you like to spend some more time as a ferret?" The surrounding Slytherins were silenced, and a few of them glanced nervously at their wands. Pansy Parkinson even raised hers slightly, as if she intended to give Ron a taste of something nasty. Blaise Zabini quietly put his hand on her shoulder, restraining her as he peered around for Professor McGonagall.

"You couldn't do it, Weasley." Malfoy started to turn slowly, daring him to try.

"Maybe not," Ron said, "but then, that would be even better, wouldn't it? I think Hogwarts would enjoy seeing you with a stupid ferret's face, and you know how long it takes broken magic to wear off…you could be stuck like that for weeks."

"You'd regret it," Pansy said menacingly.

"I doubt it."

"That's enough," Hermione whispered. "Stop it, both of you. Honestly."

"I-" Malfoy began, but Connor interrupted him.

"One more word, Malfoy, _one more_ and I'll beat you like a Muggle. Sneer about it all you want. It'll look pretty stupid when you're missing teeth. You couldn't even make a proper ferret, then."

Malfoy remained silent the rest of the class, even with Ron taunting him every five minutes. There were several other Slytherins in Transfiguration, but after the summer, only Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini seemed really loyal to Malfoy. The others would laugh at his jokes, but they didn't seem likely to risk their necks for him. Nott sat in the back. He very rarely spoke, unless called upon.

As they stepped into the hallway after class, Malfoy pushed passed Harry, knocking him into the wall. Harry, who was on the verge of shouting something rude, instead found himself laughing as Draco tripped over someone's foot and sprawled face first into the corridor floor. Pansy Parkinson shrieked as he looked up, bewildered, with blood running freely from his smashed nose.

Harry felt a hand on his shoulder as Connor moved up in the group. He thought that the tall American might be bracing for a fight, but it turned out he needn't have worried. Everyone in the hallway was laughing, and Draco rushed away, with Pansy in tow.

All during charms, they laughed at Draco's misfortune.

"I wish he'd have fallen a little harder," Ron said, "I'd like to see that arrogant git with a flat face for a while. Unfortunately, Madam Pomfrey will probably have him sorted out all too soon."

"You shouldn't be that way, Ron," Hermione chided him, "it could come back to haunt you."

"Why are you taking his side? He's the biggest prat this school has seen since Snape was a student!"

"I'm not," sighed Hermione, "I'm just saying that you oughtn't wish bad things upon others, because it's like tempting fate!"

"That's right," Neville said from behind them, "and think of the embarrassment he must have went through and…and…" Neville paused for a moment, looking at his wand. "…and I wish the slimy ponce would have knocked out a tooth or two." The people around Neville roared with laughter. Malfoy seemed to hate all Gryffindors, but Neville certainly got more than his share of humiliation at the hands of the Slytherins.

"What's this?" Professor Flitwick asked, pausing in front of the laughing students.

"Oh," Ron answered, "we were just discussing someone getting something they really deserved."

"Ah…Mister Malfoy! Yes, I heard about that…most unfortunate. Still, that sort of thing is nothing to laugh about. After all, it will probably end up being quite painful - Terribly, excruciatingly, _hideously_ painful."

Ron and Harry glanced at each other with matching expressions of shock. Hermione had her hands clamped tightly over her ears. "I'm not hearing this. I'm _not_ hearing this!"

Regardless, she undoubtedly heard it the rest of the day, as Ron made certain that everyone he even remotely knew heard the entire story. By that afternoon, people Harry had never even talked to were congratulating him for something he hadn't even done. He'd so far heard that he punched Malfoy, that he tripped him, that he threw him, and that he hit him with some kind of un-blockable nose-breaking curse.

That last rumor was his favorite.

Needless to say, by the end of the day Harry was both content and exhausted. He, Ron, and Neville were all sitting around one of the tables near the window. Connor, as usual, had disappeared after his last class. Normally, no one used the table at which they sat, because a chilly draft came in through the windows. Katie Bell and Hermione had finally grown irate enough to repair it, which took all of ten minutes, but most other Gryffindors still avoided the seats out of habit. They'd just gotten into their Defense notes when Connor staggered through the portrait hole. He was quite filthy, and dirt and grease was packed under his short fingernails. His casual clothing was stained, and Harry thought he looked very much like a Muggle auto-mechanic. He looked dead tired.

"Been playing in the dirt, mate?" Ron offered. He and Connor had been on relatively good terms so far this week, the incident with Draco today only cementing it.

"Nah. Been working on something. Unfortunately, I'm not so great at cleaning spells."

"_Scourgify._" Ron said, waving his wand casually at Connor's robes.

"Thanks."

"S'nothing. What are you working on?"

"I can't tell, it's a secret…but you ought to see it pretty soon."

"What do you mean 'a secret'?"

"I think," Hermione said, appearing from nowhere "that means he's not allowed to tell."

"I know what a secret is. And how did you get involved?"

"I have unique skills, Ron! And how do _you_ know I'm involved?"

"Because you just _conveniently_ showed up when he did, and every time someone is doing something they aren't supposed to be doing around here, you're involved." Ron said, staring down into her eyes. He had grown so tall that when he stood close to her, Hermione nearly had to lean backwards to look him in the eyes.

"Only because _you two_ are usually the ones breaking the rules and you _always_ drag me into it."

"Ah ha!" Ron cried triumphantly. "So you don't deny it? Well, that proves it then!"

"So you know what's going on?" Harry asked.

"I may or may not."

"Women," Ron said, turning to Harry and nodding sagely, "they're impossible…honestly!" Harry was left wondering when Ron became such an expert on women, but then again, he _did_ have a girlfriend now, and Harry didn't. At least, that's what he supposed Ron and Hermione were.

_Bah…Not that, not now_, Harry thought miserably.

"You're lucky women will talk to you at all, as thick headed as you are, sometimes." Hermione said.

"Well, _you_ talk to me," Ron shot back, "don't you? And you'd be awfully lonely if I toddled off someplace now, wouldn't you?"

In an effort to disengage himself from the depressing thoughts that were starting to flood his mind, Harry glanced out the window, looking for something, anything, to draw his attention from the current developments in his best friends' love lives.

"Say, who is that?" By now, Ron and Hermione's flirtatious bickering had grown so loud, Harry had to repeat himself.

"I said '_Who's_ _that_?'" He pointed.

"Well, I don't recognize her," Connor said, glancing down at the black-haired woman who twirled on the cobblestones below.

"You haven't been here long enough to know all the Gryffindors, let alone all the students." Dean roughly shoved Connor out of the way. Inwardly, Harry shuddered. Dean was his friend, and he made a mental not to talk to him when he got the chance. He didn't want to see Dean push on a day when Connor would push back, and as foul as the American's temper could be, that might happen.

The strange girl below was still spinning, dancing over the stone walk on her toes. Her skirts fanned out around her as she _flowed_, and her long black hair swirled about her head.

"I've seen her before," Dean said, shielding his eyes against the light in the common room, so he could see into the night. Harry thought he'd seen her too, though for the life of him, he couldn't say where. Around them, other Gryffindors were crowding the window to see what they were looking at. Murmurs of speculation flowed through the throng.

"Maybe she's visiting," Ron said, "I've seen that face before, maybe she has a relative here."

"She looks a bit like Daphne Greengrass." Collin Creevey said, fogging the window with his breath and promptly wiping it off again with his sleeve.

"You're a nutter!" Seamus pronounced. "Maybe the hair, sure, but she's loads better looking than Greengrass."

"_She_ must be the nutter, out there dancing alone in the dark when it's this cold." Collin said. No one disagreed.

"Whoever she is," Seamus said, "she's Scottish."

"How do you know that?" Ron asked, incredulously.

"You just know," Seamus replied without looking away.

"What's your thing with Scotts?" Parvati asked. "You're Irish anyway!"

"If you only knew," Seamus retorted, somewhat wistfully.

"Maybe she's another transfer student!" Neville said enthusiastically.

"We're not sharing you!" Lavender cried, throwing her arms around Neville's neck from behind. He blushed madly.

"We shouldn't even have the one we do." Dean added without looking at Connor.

"Let's not get into that," Hermione said softly, in an attempt to recover the situation before it got out of hand.

"Yea," Ron added, "I mean, we need to stick together now. You heard the sorting hat, and all." Harry didn't like to feel like he was putting his relationship with Connor, whom he'd known for only a month or so, above that with Dean, which had been fairly healthy for six years. He was, however, happy to see Ron acting supportive of anyone.

"Maybe if he didn't destroy other peoples'-"

"_Enough!_" Hermione roared, startling everyone there. "If you keep on at this, I'll take points from Gryffindor."

"But-"

"Five points from Gryffindor."

"What are you doing," asked Dean with a shout, "he comes here and carves up Harry's-"

"_Ten Points,_" Hermione said coolly.

Nobody spoke for several minutes, until Dean said somewhat quietly "Can I just add-"

"No," Hermione cut him off, "but I can subtract. Would you like to test me?" Dean fled up the stairs, and after a moment, Seamus reluctantly followed, cursing under his breath. Harry was going to pursue them, but Hermione held him back.

"Leave them alone. It won't do us any good if we punish them to make a point, only to have you aggravate it by going right back up. Anyway, we have D.A. tonight, and it's almost time to go."

D.A. had been going well this year. Doing two meetings hadn't been as difficult as Harry originally surmised, owing mostly to his friends' involvement. Ron, Hermione, and even Neville had stepped up to assist with the younger and less-experienced students, leaving him to concentrate on the fifth, sixth, and seventh years. He'd stopped in to talk to Kingsley very shortly after their first meeting for advice on what to do this year, since now they didn't have to make up for Umbridge's mess.

"Well, Harry," he said, softly, "we'll be doing quite a few counter-curses through the course of the year – you have your schedule?"

"Of course," Harry answered.

"Strictly speaking, I'm not allowed to teach you much in the way of curses."

"I understand, sir."

In class, Kingsley was methodical and unexcitable, sometimes even a bit distant. He had high standards, and demanded nothing less than a full effort from every student. Out of class, he was slightly more social. The blank mask was replaced by the merest hint of a smile, and his piercing gaze came with a sparkle in the eye. Harry still got the impression that the man was continuously evaluating, compensating for, and re-evaluating everything that happened.

"That being the case, I know you're acquainted with a few of them. Tell me: Do you think that the practice of counter-curses would be along the lines of what you want to do?"

"Sure," Harry said. "I mean, that's part of what we did last year."

"Well…someone would have to provide the curses to counter, wouldn't they?"

"Yes…I suppose so. Would you be willing?"

"Willing, yes. Able, no. I haven't resigned my commission as an Auror, and I haven't been sacked – yet. I teach during the day, of course, but at night I still perform certain duties that would prevent me from spending enough time with your club to do any real good. I could, however, assist you in learning them on your own…strictly for academic purposes, to assist other students in the practice of combating them, of course."

"Of course."

"And I expect you'll want to show them in turn to those who will be assisting you with the club…those who you trust enough to help you in that way, so they can help others learn the proper counter-curses. Do you understand, Harry?"

"Yes sir, I believe I do."

"You have two meetings a week?"

"For now," Harry answered. "Wednesdays and Thursdays, mostly, but it can change."

"Very well then. What if we met for a bit on Thursdays or Fridays? That would give you enough time to practice them before your meetings, and to teach them to your assistants."

"Later on Friday or directly after class on Thursday?"

"That will do."

"Thank you, sir."

As Harry was rising, Kingsley placed a large hand on his shoulder.

"Do I need to warn you to treat this opportunity…cautiously?"

"No, sir," Harry replied with complete honesty.

Since then, he'd had two meetings with Professor Shacklebolt, and although he already knew the curses they'd reviewed, learning them properly helped him do them better. He then taught them to Hermione, Ron, Seamus, Neville, Dean, Ginny, and many of the others who had been loyal D.A. members last year. The _Protego_ charm was the counter to nine out of ten curses and jinxes that Harry knew, and fortunately, he performed it admirably. After two weeks of continuous practice, both sections of the D.A. were mastering it as well. Harry got the feeling that some of the students, especially the older ones, were growing weary of simply shielding themselves, so he began to string things together. This forced them to think, and sometimes they couldn't block them all, so they had to deal with the repercussions of the curse, or use an actual specific counter-curse.

Tonight, Harry, Hermione, Ron, Neville, Seamus, Parvati, Padma, and Cho Chang all took turns casting various binding curses, which the other D.A. members attempted to block or otherwise deal with. All three types of binding that Harry knew could be blocked with _Protego_, but fortunately, several of the advanced D.A. students were fast enough with a wand to make defending against the continuous barrage difficult. Cho continued to attend D.A. meetings, even though Marietta Edgecombe didn't, and though she hardly even looked at Harry, she progressed well. She was one of the few students powerful enough to cast a Patronus, and she proved a capable dueler.

As Harry watched, Michael Corner deflected a minor jinx. Cho was quick today, however, and she continued relentlessly.

"_Diffindo_!"

"_Prot_-" Michael started, but he was too late. Sticky black ropes snaked around the sixth-year Ravenclaw, binding him tightly. Somehow, he managed to hold onto his wand.

"_Dissocio_!" The black bands severed with a 'pop' and Michael got his wand up just in time to shield himself from a petrifaction spell. Harry was silently impressed at how well the advanced D.A. members were doing. He'd thought long and hard about teaching some of the curses but in the end decided that part of the problem they'd had in the ministry was keeping the fallen Death Eaters to stay down. Harry did not intend to let that happen again.

To his left, Luna Lovegood was keeping Ron surprisingly busy. Her casual, dreamy movements were oddly graceful. Next to them stood Seamus and Katie Bell, who were both taking full advantage of their athleticism. As Harry watched, Katie dodged three spells, finding time to return three of her own, which Seamus leapt, blocked, and ducked. Hermione and Terry Boot traded spells which looked as if they were simply chosen at random. Harry knew better; Terry was one of the cleverest of the Ravenclaws, and Hermione was easily his equal – Harry knew there was nothing random or haphazard in either of their choices of spells. Others were engaged in various stages of dueling, some successful, some, not so much. Hagrid was absent. After attending one of each meeting, he'd fallen into the habit of attending the less advanced sessions.

"They're a bit more my style, if you know what I mean!" Harry did…Hagrid hadn't made it that far before he was expelled for causing the death of a student – a crime of which he was innocent. Regardless, his wand had been snapped and he was forbidden to do any magic. Knowing this, Harry could easily understand why he was more comfortable being surrounded by the younger students if magic was going to be involved.

After another twenty minutes of dueling, and several partner changes, they called it a night, and before Harry knew it, he was back in his dorm room, preparing for his Occlumency lesson. It was sometimes difficult to feel as if any appreciable progress had been made, but then, sometimes it did take Snape slightly longer to bring him screaming to his knees. There had even been one or two occasions where Harry had almost _felt_ something. It provided him with something of a bitter goal; to have Snape fail at humiliating him would almost make all these lessons worth it. Tonight, however, something had occurred to him. He caught up with Hermione on his way out of the Common Room, and she walked with him, nearly all the way to the dungeons.

"So you say your father was in this memory, and he'd been assaulted by Death Eaters?"

"Well, I don't think they were Death Eaters yet, exactly. I think they may have just been students then, but he named off a few that definitely were, eventually."

"Hm. And you've talked to Professor Lupin?"

"No. When I tried to contact him it was the night of the full moon, and I haven't had the chance since then."

"Well, do you think it wise to upset the man who is teaching you Occlumency? You _really need_ to learn this, Harry!"

"I just…need to know. They hated each other, and I need to know if Snape was involved."

"And what would you do if he did? He was a different person then! I mean, he was a Death Eater and now he's not!"

"Look, I don't know if I blame him or…or what, but I need to know what happened. It seems as if my mother kept that memory for a reason. It must be important!"

"Perhaps she just kept it because she was proud of your father?"

"I don't know, but the only way I'll find out is by asking. He can't kick me out for asking, can he?" Hermione sighed and put her arm around Harry, pulling him close to her. He'd never known her to wear much perfume, but he could smell something now, and it was agonizing. Fortunately, he'd already started to prepare himself for Occlumency and he was able to suppress it this time.

"Just don't get kicked out, Harry. We can always try to find out what happened that night. If you get tossed from your lessons again, you may never get back in them."

"Then Dumbledore could teach me."

"Perhaps Professor Dumbledore has Professor Snape teaching you for a reason. Maybe he really is better at it." Now it was Harry's turn to sigh.

"I won't get kicked out. I'll ask him last, and if he's in a foul mood, I guess I'll just wait."

"Thank you, Harry." Hermione hugged him and turned to leave. She paused for a moment. "Why do you _really_ want to know?"

Harry didn't answer.

"If you're looking for revenge, maybe you could reconsider?"

"Why should I?" Harry said loudly, almost shouting. Hermione cringed, and Harry concentrated again on his Occlumency. He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry Hermione. But really, why should I?"

"Because hurting someone out of retribution is evil. That's the kind of things the Death Eaters do…they hurt Muggles out of pure spite and bigotry and revenge for…for just _being!_ It would make you too much like Lord Voldemort, if you were going to do something out of revenge."

Harry looked at his feet, not daring to speak to her. He had a pretty good history of not lying to Hermione, and he didn't want to start now.

"Just a thought," she said quietly, and turned to go. Harry took a few moments to compose himself before he knocked on Snape's door. The door opened silently, revealing Snape's office. The Potions Master was sitting at his desk, a pile of parchment before him. He waved his hand at the chair in front of his desk, and Harry took a seat.

They very rarely wasted words anymore. Instead, Harry would come in, sit down, and wait for the assault to start. After a bit – the amount of time had been slowly but steadily increasing – they would take a short rest. This week, there was even a pitcher of ice water and a pair of glasses. During their break, Snape would tell Harry all the things that he'd done wrong, in practice, class, and life in general. After a quarter hour of verbal abuse, they would go at it again. So far, Harry had never made it until the end of their scheduled practice. This week, however, he was set to try something different. _Poking a Stick in the Mind's Eye_ suggested in his most recent reading that diversion might be as effective a technique as obstruction. Today, rather than attempt to clear his mind, Harry let it flood with what he judged irrelevant details. The color of his socks, what he'd eaten for breakfast, and Muggle football scores swirled through his head.

Nearly twenty minutes passed as Harry saturated Snape with one wave of extraneous thoughts after another. Finally, the professor stopped, which Harry actually felt, and relaxed. He poured himself a glass of water, and then set the pitcher in front of Harry without a word. Normally, Harry was drenched in sweat by this time, but tonight wasn't so bad. He was still thankful for the drink, and he was quietly pleased with his lesson so far.

"Is it your intention to provide the Dark Lord with so many details about your life, and those of the people around you?"

"Well, no. But I thought –"

"That is precisely the problem you incompetent twit; you thought of them. It is apparent to me that you have read chapter three, so why did you insist upon showing me the faces of those most important to you for the past _twenty minutes_? Do you intend to be impetus of their destruction?" Harry knew that he hadn't had more than passing thoughts of his friends, but he also knew that arguing would simply enrage Snape, bringing about more vicious attacks after their break. He'd done that last week, and didn't want to repeat the performance tonight.

"I'm sorry, sir. I guess I just didn't consider that."

"That," Snape drawled, "is nothing new."

"What about the rest?" Harry asked, ignoring the barb.

"The rest was…acceptable. I take it the numbers were from some sort of Muggle game?"

"Football, sir."

"Is it in any way comprehensible?"

"Mostly not, sir."

"Then I suggest you concentrate on that. If you can find a game that's more confusing, perhaps you should look into that as well. If you have any compassion for the people around you, you'll keep them out of your thoughts. Now…_prepare yourself_."

Harry had just enough time to call into his mind the colors of the teams that he knew, and their nicknames. While those were flashing through his mind, he attempted to bury his other thoughts, hiding them under the river of colors and meaningless numbers. Bit by bit, he managed to completely clear his mind of anything relevant. The problem before, he realized, was that he was trying to clear his mind of everything. It was a good deal easier to simply try to clear it of anything that mattered and then try to fill it back up with garbage. After all, he'd been doing that for one reason or another for as long as he could remember; to escape from the Dursleys, to make it through the long summer holidays, to get his mind of Hermione.

"Watch it, Potter."

"Sorry, Professor."

"Don't waste my time apologizing; correct your shortcomings."

After another twenty minutes, longer than Harry had ever lasted, Snape relaxed. Harry was proud of himself; all night, the Professor had been kept at bay.

"It seems you are finally paying attention. Now, there is something you wished to ask me?" It seemed Harry hadn't been entirely successful.

"I…uh…don't know if I want to ask it or not."

"Whether you want to has already been established, Potter. Do not presume that your temporary and _extremely brief_ success can allow you to hide your thoughts from me."

"I do want to ask, sir, I just…I don't want to get tossed out again." Snape's eyes narrowed. He twirled his finger, indicating that Harry should continue.

"My father was once caught alone and involved in a fight with five Death…with people who would be Death Eaters. I was wondering what…what you could tell me about it."

"In my experience, your father richly deserved what he got, every time he got it. When was this alleged _incident_?" Harry swallowed his pride.

"Well, the thing is, maybe he did. I think it was during his sixth or seventh year, and I was just…er…I just wanted to know if you could tell me anything about it…if it happened because they were Death Eaters or if they had a reason to hate him."

"Everyone in this school had a reason to hate your father, Potter. What surprises me is not that he was involved in an altercation, but that it didn't happen with a great deal more regularity. If you want my opinion, which you obviously must, since you _insist_ on causing me great aggravation to get it; some of the people left in the wake of your father's arrogance recognized a good thing when they saw one, and took matters into their own hands, as they ought to have done so many times before." He paused for a moment, doubtless torn between feeling gleeful at James Potter's misfortune and directing more hatred at Harry. "It is, however, a shame that Black and the Half-Breed weren't there to share in his…reward. They deserved it just as much."

"What about Peter Pettigrew?" Harry asked, his curiosity momentarily overwhelming his anxiety. Snape scowled.

"That little rodent became very adept playing both sides. It's no surprise to me that he wasn't to be found."

Harry was surprised to find himself moderately satisfied with Snape's answer, since it indicated to him that Snape, while happy that it had happened, hadn't been directly involved. He was pretty sure that the slimy git would have been happy to take the credit, had he been there. He forced himself to be polite to the dour and thoroughly detestable Potions Master for another moment.

"Thank you, sir," he said, reaching for the door.

"Potter." Harry turned to face the professor.

"I do not expect you to become any more competent, but I will accept nothing less than the minute success you have shown tonight. You will not waste my time."

"Yes sir," Harry acquiesced.

He slowly wandered back to the Gryffindor common room, still subdued by the wash of insignificant thoughts. Why had his mother saved that memory above all others? Why did it even stick in his head? Somehow, something about it seemed important.

He awoke the next day having dreamed of his mother and father. There was something at the edge of his mind, something that felt very significant, and it just wouldn't come out.

At breakfast, Neville was almost annoyingly cheerful.

"Here mate," Ron said, "what are you all on about? It's too early in the morning to be that awake!"

"I finally did it!" Neville said proudly. "I finally convinced the old bat to let me in!"

"Let you in to what?" Dean asked, through a mouthful of bread.

"Potions! I finally got into potions!" The surrounding Gryffindors stopped dead, as though they'd been magically silenced. Harry hadn't realized that no one else knew of Neville's quest to get into Snape's N.E.W.T. level class.

"_Potions?_" Ron said, dropping his fork and crushing a piece of toast in his left hand.

"You mean you…you _tried_ to get in?" Dean added.

"That's bloody suicide, if you ask me," Seamus said, poking at a slice of ham as though it too had something to say. "You know how much Snape hates you."

"That's right," Ron added, "don't you remember that filthy boggart?" In the third year, their class had been trained by Professor Lupin to deal with boggarts, shape changers that assumed the form of whatever their victim feared the most. Neville's had taken the form of Professor Snape.

"I've got to get in now, or I can't go into magical medicine." Neville replied. Dean set his cup down, which wasn't really necessary, since he'd spilled most of his juice on an annoyed looking Lavender Brown anyway.

"Magical med…have you gone mad? Do you know how difficult that is?"

Harry, who knew a bit more about Neville and his family than most of the other Gryffindors, felt that Neville was probably anything but mad. "So you're willing to do all the work, hey Neville?" He asked.

"I'm willing to do if they'll let me try." Neville replied, though he sounded somewhat nervous.

"Well then," Hermione said, after a full minute of silence, "let's go to potions, shall we?"

"Longbottom? What's _he_ doing here?" Draco complained. His nose was still red and swollen, and his normally arrogant drawl was a nasally and pathetic whine. The other Slytherins laughed with Malfoy and leered at Neville, who was starting to look as though he already regretted his decision very much.

"Pay attention!" Snape announced. "Ignore the new addition to our class. He is simply passing time until I see fit to toss him out." There were a few titters at that, and Neville shrunk even lower in his seat. He still wore a smile, however, and it still looked, for the most part, genuine. Snape spun on his heels, his cloak billowing out behind him, and started in on their lesson for the day. In the end, Neville produced a potion that, while not up to snuff for Snape's N.E.W.T. level classes, was certainly better than anything he'd produced last year. Even Snape's continual berating and the Slytherin jeers couldn't remove the smile from his face, although he did look completely worn out by the time they stepped into the hallway. They'd hardly made it around the corner to the stairs leading up from the dungeons when a voice called out behind them.

"Look! Longbottom's somehow found his way into the wrong classroom. I can't imagine how that happened. You couldn't possibly have anything worth putting up with you for another year."

"Sod off, Malfoy," Harry said, glaring. Hermione was glowering too, and she didn't look as if she wanted to put up with Malfoy's mouth today.

"Just because your father buys your way into everything," she said, "it doesn't mean that's how everyone else operates. Some people actually have talent." The blonde Slytherin turned on her, reaching for his wand, and Crabbe and Goyle, who must have been waiting for Draco in the hallway, stepped forward hesitantly.

"Ah ah ah…" Connor said, softly, wagging his finger. They both halted in mid step, and Malfoy paused, his wand half-drawn. "Oh," Connor said, still speaking softly, "I know what you're thinking…_I might be fast enough to pull off a curse or two_…and maybe you are." He grinned widely, exposing enough teeth to make Harry nervous, and Crabbe and Goyle took an involuntary step back. "…or not."

"Feel free to try," Harry said, smirking. The other Slytherins from potions were standing well back, in case Malfoy and Harry or Connor wound up in a duel. Malfoy puffed himself up as much as he could, considering what had happened the last time they'd argued in the potions hallway.

"What's the matter, Potter," he said, "afraid to fight your own battles? You need a filthy American to do it for you? I always thought you couldn't stoop any lower than the riffraff and mudbloods you've been surrounding yourself with, but you've gone and found someone even worse…an American mudblood who's one step up from a squib. I daresay, you have a talent for digging up the real garbage."

"Take that back." Neville said evenly.

"Are you talking to me?" Malfoy said, astounded. "You must be mad. Then again, it does run in your family, doesn't it?" There was a _whishing_ noise as Neville whipped his wand out of his pocket. It happened so fast that even Neville looked surprised. Malfoy's eyes actually crossed as he stared down the gleaming wand which rested on the tip of his pointy nose.

"What is it that runs in your family again?" Neville spoke through clenched teeth and the muscles in his forearm shifted as he clenched his wand so tightly that Harry was afraid it might shatter in his grip. "Oh, that's right, being a _filthy Death Eater_ and licking Voldemort's boots." Malfoy started to move his wand arm but a jab from Neville calmed him down.

"That's enough," Ernie said from the crowd, "I'll take points from Slytherin _and_ Gryffindor. Move along, now."

"That's a good idea," Padma Patil added, "He's not worth it, Neville." Neville held Malfoy at wand-point for another few moments before he slowly lowered it.

"Consider yourself lucky, Malfoy." At that, some of the Slytherins laughed. Harry was pleased to notice that no one from D.A. was laughing. Neville may not have been the best dueler, but he was far from the worst, and somehow Harry knew that none of the members of D.A. would stand idly by, either.

"This isn't over!" Malfoy said, with as much dignity as he could muster, considering a moment ago he had a wand between the eyes.

"On the contrary," came a voice from behind them, "it is. You all have places to be. Go there, now." Perhaps some of the people in the hallway would have considered arguing with certain professors, but none of them, even the Slytherins, had any desire to start anything with Kingsley Shacklebolt. He fell into step beside Harry and spoke quietly.

"You should look out for Malfoy."

"I'm not afraid of that little weasel!" Harry stopped momentarily, and then continued when Professor Shacklebolt kept walking.

"Not everyone is dangerous in the same way, Harry. Draco Malfoy may seem like a mere nuisance, but he has the ability to cause some real problems. I've heard you're interested in becoming an Auror…is that true?"

"Yeah, I've considered it." Harry didn't want to admit the truth; he really hadn't considered doing anything else.

"When you are an Auror, you have to judge a threat wherever you see it, from belligerent dust bins to Dark Lords. No cause is without its effect." Harry contemplated that in silence.

A few hours later, Harry was sitting in Defense and diligently taking notes. Multi-colored ink filled the margins of his texts and the sheets of parchment that he would later add to Hermione's magical books. Around him, the scratching of quills marked the students' dedication as a whole.

"Now," Professor Shacklebolt said, in his soft, deep voice, "the _Stupefy_ curse does what? Who can tell me? Yes, Miss Jones?"

"It puts the victim to sleep, sir."

"Five points to Hufflepuff. That is both correct, and incorrect. It is more properly called the _stunning _spell, or stunning curse, and there are some fundamental differences between being stunned and being put to sleep. Take notes." Harry couldn't imagine that there was anyone not taking notes, but he didn't waste the time to look up. Some of this information he'd already gotten the previous week, but some of it was new.

"Causing something to sleep uses very little energy, and it does very little damage. To the contrary, the force required to stun a person, either physically or magically, is nearly the force required to knock them dead. Obviously, care must be used with stunning spells, and their ilk." Professor Shacklebolt then went on to describe the proper ways to counter stunning spells, which Harry already knew. He dutifully took notes anyway, just in case there was something he missed when he and Kingsley had gone over it last week. Next to him, Ron was muttering under his breath and paging through his notes, marking the spots where he had already made similar annotations. Even though Hermione had convinced him to take school more seriously this year, he still patently refused to take any note twice.

"Professor?"

"Yes, Mister Macmillan?"

"Does that mean that the stunning curse is like a killing curse?"

"In many ways, yes. There are several aspects of a spell that can define it as a curse. Mister Potter, I believe you know something of this." At first, Harry didn't have any idea what Kingsley was looking for. Then he remembered what the Auror had said about _The Light Side of Dark Magic_ during one of their conversations.

"It's a good book," he remarked, "the man who wrote it knew what he was talking about." Remembering this, Harry mentally searched for what "Mr. J" had to say on the subject. He hadn't read too far into the book yet, but at least he'd gotten far enough to come up with something.

"Well, some people think that what makes a curse a curse is when it's used against the will of the target. So in that case, I guess, a sleeping spell could be a spell when you want to sleep and a curse when you don't. I don't suppose anyone would _want _to be stunned."

"And magical reciprocity?" Professor Shacklebolt asked, gazing at Harry expectantly. Harry had just reached that part in the book, and he was honest about it. He wasn't going to try to fool anyone if Professor Shacklebolt had read the book.

"I'm not sure I understand that part completely, Professor. The argument seems to be that curses attempt to defeat the reciprocal nature of spells."

"Thank you Harry. That is essentially correct," said Kingsley, pacing in front of the class. "We've long speculated that magic, by its nature, consumes energy – that only makes sense. For years we have questioned the source of that energy and all of its implications – why some are more magical than others, whether Muggles possess magic – the like. Some have theorized that that the so-called 'un-blockable curses' are un-blockable because they consume the magical energy of the victim of the curse. Yes, Miss Granger?"

"Please, sir, wouldn't that mean that Muggles are at least somewhat magical?"

"If this theory is valid, it might." Seeing the puzzled looks on some of the faces in the classroom, the professor continued. "Can you explain why?"

"Well, if the killing curse consumes magic from the victim, and Muggles can be victims, then Muggles must have some kind of magic. It only stands to reason!"

"Correct, five points to Gryffindor. That argument only stands if magical reciprocity is a valid theory. It may or may not be, since it is difficult to measure magical ability other than observing spells. It is, however, only a theory, and our knowledge of such things is limited." He paused and gazed out upon the sea of blank looks before him. "Really, it's something to keep in mind – _Every spell has its price_. With some of your more powerful magic, the price can be hefty."

Later that day, as Harry was preparing for D.A., he glanced at the book they had been talking about in class. It really wasn't that thick, but he just hadn't gotten a chance to read it. He considered returning to it on the weekend, since in his opinion, if Kingsley thought it was a good book, it probably was.

Later that night, Harry and Ron stood in front of the beginners D.A., addressing students that ranged from first through sixth years. There were about twenty-five in all, from every house, even Slytherin. Harry was diffident when it came to allowing the Slytherins to attend, but in the end, Hermione had convinced him that if they wanted to be there, risking Malfoy's wrath, they ought to be allowed. Harry was pretty sure that they were spies anyway, but what they were doing in D.A. was no real secret. The advanced D.A. was where they worked on actual dueling techniques, and there were no Slytherins in that group.

"Alright," Ron said, "watch what happens when Harry tries to…Oi! Are you paying attention?" It was obvious that the students were not, and were instead looking behind him. Both Ron and Harry turned at the same time to an unexpected sight.

Draco Malfoy was leaning against the door frame, glaring at the group.

"Malfoy," Ron spat. "What the bloody hell do you want?"

"Temper, temper, Weasley. There are children present. Anyway, I've been bored lately and I'm looking for some entertainment. I figure watching you lot _pretend_ to know what's going on ought to be good for a laugh."

"No," Harry said, without a pause.

"What?" Malfoy looked stunned.

"What's the matter, Malfoy?" quipped a third-year girl whose name Harry could never remember, "don't understand proper English? Well allow me to enlighten you: _Sod off, git!_"

"You little…" Malfoy stopped, reconsidering where he was. He glared at the few Slytherins in the room, and then at Harry. _He's been doing quite a bit of glaring lately,_ Harry thought.

"You can't keep me out, Potter. When my fa-" Malfoy stopped, and a light tinge of red spread over his cheeks. "When the Minister of Magic hears about this, you'll be sorry." Ron couldn't resist a jab at Malfoy's expense.

"As sorry as your old man was, perhaps, when he failed his _master_ and got caught by real wizards? Would you say that's how sorry we'll be?"

"You wretched…" Malfoy started, his wand hand twitching. He probably wasn't going to go try to pull it, but at least ten cries of _"Expelliarmis!"_ rang out, and Draco's wand shot from his fingertips. The blond Slytherin was thrown backward through the door, and none of the students even bothered to look out after him.

"Please Mister Potter sir," one of the smaller Slytherins said hesitantly, "could we take his wand to him? It may go…better…for us if we do." Harry would have rather snapped it, but the girl sounded so utterly worried that he couldn't resist.

"If Malfoy does try anything, you need to let us know," he said to her, and then to the class in general. "He needs to learn that his kind of nonsense isn't acceptable."

"That's right," Ron added, nodding. "We'll look after you. The important thing to remember is what the sorting hat said- 'We are all together'." Harry considered calling it a night, but figured that it might give them the wrong impression. He didn't want any of the students to think that Draco had accomplished anything with his behavior. Instead, they practiced another half hour with renewed vigor. Fortunately, none of the other D.A. students seemed interested in taking revenge on the younger Slytherins, some even seeming to take pity on them. As they left, Harry noticed that Malfoy was gone.

"That was a good touch," Harry said to Ron on their way back to Gryffindor tower. "That bit about the sorting hat."

"Well, it just came to me on the spur of the moment. Anyway, I'm sure that's what the hat meant…that we all needed to get along. All people like Malfoy do is cause us to not get along, just because everyone in his house thinks he's so great, and then he acts like a hooligan."

"Not everyone thinks he's great," Harry replied, "you should have heard Nott. I got the impression that he hated Malfoy almost as much as we do."

"Nott, eh…" Ron mused, curling his lip. "Well, I've never cared much for him either, or any Slytherin, really, but any enemy of Malfoy's is a friend of mine. Maybe the Slytherins in D.A. aren't _all_ spies."

Harry laughed. "I'd thought that myself, mate, but tonight made me wonder. A few of them actually looked worried."

"Well," said Ron, "I suppose we'll find out, if any of them turn up as frogs, or lizards, or something."

Later that night, Harry dug his mirror from his school chest. He sat cross-legged on his bed, and pulled the curtains shut around him, and after casting a silencing charm on the bed so he wouldn't be overheard, tapped the wand and whispered "friend". Nearly immediately, it flashed blue and Dumbledore's face appeared in the glass.

"Ah, Harry. Looking for Remus, again?" Before Harry could answer, another voice spoke.

"If he is, he's found him. Is there anything wrong, Harry?" Harry marveled for a second over how he could see both Dumbledore and Lupin at the same time, and then spoke.

"Well, I just had a question about a fight my father had at school." Dumbledore politely excused himself, and a flash of blue later, only Remus was visible. He still looked a bit rough from the last full moon, but other than that appeared to be in good health and good spirits.

"Ah, well. There did seem to be quite a large number, you know."

"Yeah," Harry replied, "but I have a specific night in mind. I know that my father was injured, but I don't know much else."

"Well," Remus said, "why don't you tell me a little and I'll see what I can remember." Harry could tell by the way that the picture was jostling that Remus was sitting down. Harry could even see that he was in the library of their house. He went on to describe the event in as much detail as he could, and then waited for Remus to speak.

"I think I remember that, Harry. Pete turned up missing one night, and some third-years told James they'd seen him with a bunch of Slytherins. This was at the end of our sixth year, so James and Sirius had spent almost six whole years tormenting certain students, and most of the time, Peter was unfortunate enough to tag along with us when it happened. We figured they'd caught him alone and were going to work him over. He was never much good at anything, and James knew that if he was on his own, he wouldn't stand a chance.

"Sirius was gone somewhere; I don't exactly recall where. I was…ill…and so that left only James, who naturally went charging in, flinging curses like an old pro. Lilly and James were somewhat involved by then, but they weren't really a couple yet. She found out what he did, and went looking for him in the middle of the night, and dragged him back to the Common Room. I didn't know they'd gone to the prefect's bathroom before, but that makes sense, when you think about it. I knew she'd found him in the owlry, and the boys' prefects' lavatory is on the way. Peter was with there too, in the owlry I mean, unconscious, so he could at least help your mother out. You say he wasn't in your mother's memory?"

Harry shook his head. There must have been something in the way he did it, because Lupin clarified. "That was before he'd gone over to…to the other side. He was still 'our' Wormtail then. Thanks to James, he got off without much more than a scratch. James wasn't so lucky though; they beat him quite badly, actually.

"When Sirius came back, he was enraged. He wanted to walk right into the Slytherin Common Room tossing curses and taking names." Remus chuckled to himself. "It took Lily, Peter, and me together to keep him from doing anything rash, and honestly I wasn't much help. I think she jinxed him more in three days than he'd been hit all year, and if it was anyone else, they wouldn't have survived the week. Sirius always did have a soft spot for Lily, though." He was smiling as he relived his school days in his head. Harry considered all that his friend had told him.

"It keeps nagging at me," Harry admitted, "any idea why she'd have that one memory saved?"

"Plenty," Lupin said. "On the night before your parents' wedding, Lily and I talked until early the next morning. She mentioned that night, although I never got to use her amulet. She told me that talking to your father after the attack was when she realized her true feelings for him. It doesn't surprise me now to know that's the memory she saved. Perhaps you can feel a little of what she felt…memory magic is a funny thing."

Harry didn't know what to say to that. He was happy to know how significant the memory was to his mother, but there was still a feeling that he couldn't shake. It meant more; he knew it, but he'd need time to get it figured out.

"Well, thanks, then. I'm glad I could talk about it to someone besides Snape, at least."

"How are things going with him, Harry? I know he's…"

"They're fine Profess-"

"Harry, I'm not a professor anymore. Call me Remus."

"They're fine, I promise. He's a git, just like always, and I put up with it, just like always. Really, it's like we were meant for each other!"

Remus laughed at that, and after some small talk, Harry read from _The Light Side of Dark Magic_ and then tucked in for the night.


	10. Chapter 10 Broomsticks and Potions

Chapter 10 – Broomsticks, Potions, and Mysterious Witches 

Though it had been overcast and hazy, the day of October 11th was un-seasonably warm. Quidditch practice had been long and frustrating with all the formations and numbers that Katie had been shouting, and no one could think of anything else. Harry was thankful that he was a Seeker, and not really involved in position plays.

Neville was sitting in the common room reading a letter when Harry returned. One look at Harry's face and his slow, pained movement prompted Neville to sprint to the sixth-years' dormitory. He returned a minute later with several strips of cloth.

"Try these out, Harry. Just tie them around your arm or leg where it's sore, and they'll go hot and cold on you. They've got essence of Murtlap too, so they're good for almost any kind of pain."

"Thanks, Neville," Harry said. "Mind if I hold onto a few for the rest of the team?"

"No! I've got loads more. Making them is good practice. I'll fetch them." Neville returned with a small pile of the pain-relieving patches and dropped them on their usual table near the window. He returned to his chair and resumed reading his letter, which looked to be very long indeed.

"What've you got there?" Harry asked, eyeing the page that Neville was reading. The letters were full of little loops and curls, and it looked very feminine.

"It's from my pen pal, Consera. She's found some use for your Ghost Plant, and sent a potion recipe."

"Does it look interesting?" Harry asked. He wasn't exceptionally interested in potions; not any more than he had to be to do well in the class, and he'd asked mostly to be polite.

"Oh, yes! She said she doesn't know exactly what it does, because she's not sure it's even authentic. It's supposed to have come from the Aztecs, and she's not entirely sure she translated it properly. She suggests that our potions master give it a once over."

"Yeah," Harry said, "_that'll_ happen. Maybe Hermione can do it."

"I dunno," Neville said. "Snape is really mean, but he knows his stuff. I'd hate to suck something down that'd kill me! There're a lot of dangerous ingredients…silverleaf nightshade, and obsidian…and leopard's bane…I don't even have any of that. Maybe Connor does."

"I guess," Harry replied. He had to deal with Snape three times a week already, and that was enough. Suddenly, movement outside caught his eye. Connor was walking towards Hagrid's cottage. Harry watched him; his long, easy lope covered ground quickly. Moments later, Dean Thomas followed. Harry was torn – on the one hand, he didn't think Connor would cause problems for Dean unless he was pressed. Even Malfoy was relatively safe until he started causing problems. On the other hand, Dean didn't like Connor, and Harry thought it possible that Dean would be all too willing to press him. He wanted to think that Connor was reasonable enough to solve the problems peacefully, but he had to admit that so far, the American had shown himself to be fairly adept at fisticuffs. Harry didn't mind Malfoy getting knocked around, but he'd rather not see Dean get it.

On the other hand, what could he do, other than delay the inevitable? Perhaps the best thing was to let things take their course. If he was a Prefect, he'd have to stop them from fighting, but he wasn't. Let Ron and Hermione make the tough decisions.

He had no sooner thought of Ron and Hermione when they arrived, bickering, as usual.

"I'm telling you I've taken everything important down…I'm really making a change this year!"

"In that case you shouldn't need mine for any reason!"

"Well, there's no need to get hasty…we all make some mistakes every now and then."

It was all Harry could do to keep himself too busy to think of Hermione constantly. The worst part was he couldn't talk to the people he normally talked to, because it was normally her or Ron. He slipped up to the dormitory before they could talk to him, and lay in his bed, reading _The Light Side of Dark Magic_.

When he woke up the next morning, Harry noticed that half of the beds were empty. Connor, Dean, and Neville were all gone. He could see Seamus's foot sticking out where his head should be, and Ron was snoring like a motorbike. He had a lot of homework that he could be doing, but if the weather was going to be as nice as yesterday, he wasn't going to hang around inside. Perhaps he'd go visit Hagrid; he hadn't done that in a while.

When Harry was within a few hundred yards of Hagrid's hut, he saw something very odd. A small figure, it looked to be Natalie MacDonald, was doing keeper drills. She would skyrocket vertically while facing forward, and then go into a series of horizontal and vertical slides, moving the broom left and right, up and down, and diagonally without going forward or backwards. When he got closer, he saw that it wasn't her Silver Arrow. Harry stopped and watched, curiously. She'd do the keeper drill for a few moments, then fly to the ground out of sight behind Hagrid's hut, only to re-appear a few moments later to redo the drill.

"What's up, Natalie?" Harry yelled. She flew to him, moving sideways instead of forward. It was impressive, both from the broom and rider.

"Hello, Harry! Nice day for some flying, hey?"

"It sure is. Not flying the Arrow, I see?"

"Not today."

Harry looked around to make sure they were alone.

"What are you doing way out there? Working on some keeper moves?"

"Well," she said innocently, "you never know when you'll need to move into an unfamiliar part! And I just sort-of wanted to be away from prying eyes; you know, strategy, and all."

"And I'm sure you're not doing anything to that broom that some people would find objectionable?"

"Of course not! Nothing at all!"

"Well, you may want to make sure that Hermione doesn't see you doing nothing. You know how she can be. And did you know," Harry added, glancing at Natalie's robes, "that you have a dirty handprint in the middle of your back?"

"I do?"

"You do. A big one, too."

"I ah…I don't really know what that is. Say, I'm going to go fly a little closer to the pitch…I think I might be done with drills today. Want to come?"

"Perhaps, in a bit," he replied. "For now; just keep away from Hermione."

Part of Harry wanted to see the interesting predicament that would result from Hermione catching Natalie with what he was nearly positive was Ron's broom. Her warning to Natalie and Ron was still fresh in Harry's head, so another part of him feared seeing something he'd regret.

Just then, Hagrid rumbled around the corner of his hut and saw him.

"Harry!" To Harry's great surprise, Hagrid broke into a jog, catching up with him almost immediately. "What are you up to, Harry?"

"Well, I thought that I'd stop and visit you, to see what I'm missing in Magical Creatures."

"Ah, funny you should say that. I've got some juvenile manticores back there; quite a rough time for them…they're a bit irritable, if you know what I mean…angsty and full o' tragedy, that lot. Best be staying out front!"

Harry remembered the blast-ended skrewts, and he was silently thankful that Hagrid had given him a graceful way out of visiting the manticores. Normally, Hagrid would have been pushing to get Harry to visit his "cuddly" and often "misunderstood" friends. Today, they walked together towards the hut and chatted idly of magical creatures, D.A., and Gryffindor's chances of taking the Quidditch Cup. For almost an hour, they sat in Hagrid's hut. The gamekeeper seemed on edge, but then so would Harry, if he had a group of juvenile manticores in his back yard. He tried to catch a glimpse of them, but all he could see was a pile of greasy rags and a few boxes. Finally, Harry excused himself, and headed back to the castle. Before he'd gotten a hundred yards, he summoned his Firebolt.

It really was too nice to go inside, and perhaps Natalie wanted some company in testing the broom that she obviously wasn't modifying.

When he got back to the Common Room, Harry found Ron engaged in another game of Wizard's Chess, this time with Hermione.

"Since when did you play wizard's chess?" Harry asked her.

"Professor Walken told me it would help with causality. He said he was thinking about making it an assignment."

"What kind of luck are you having?" he asked, already knowing. Ron was an outstanding chess player.

"He's letting me win," she said, "so I'm doing fairly well." The look on Ron's face said that he wasn't allowing anything, but that he wasn't about to correct her.

"Well, that's what you get from Ron. Too good for his own good, I say." Harry wandered up to the dormitory, where Connor and Neville were picking through a small jungle on Neville's bureau. They must have brought some plants up from the greenhouses, because there weren't nearly as many earlier that morning.

"Really, none of that should be too hard to get," Connor was saying. "You've got the Ghost Plant. The rest we ought to be able to come up with here or order. I have licorice and hawthorn, the greenhouse has blackberry, rowan, and ivy, and we can order the Leopard's Bane and obsidian, if no one has any. You should probably order the obsidian pre-crushed, since it's a genuine pain in the can to crush yourself. Harder than nearly everything but diamonds, you know. When is Snape going to get back to you on what it does?"

"I don't know," Neville replied. "He sure didn't seem happy that I asked. It's a good thing that you can't get addicted to cheering charms, because I've been going through them like candy in that class." Both Connor and Harry laughed at that. It was easy to laugh about potions when you weren't sitting in class.

The next Thursday, they were sitting in potions, listening to Snape lecture.

"Today, we are going to discuss your year-long projects. As you may be aware, education following your O.W.L.s is designed to focus your abilities, and as such, you are expected to move from general magic, which is what you have learned so far, into more specific magic, which is how some of you will spend the rest of your lives." Snape paused in front of Neville, who did his best to look the Professor in the eyes.

"For some of you, that is unfortunate news indeed." He continued pacing the class, ignoring the Gryffindors completely and pausing in front of the Slytherins. "For others, this means honing your already existing skills." Draco and the other Slytherins sat up proudly.

"If you insist on being in my way," Snape again glared at Neville, and then passed his gaze over Harry, Hermione, Connor, and the rest of the Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs, "you will pay meticulous attention to what I am about to say:

"If you fail in this endeavor, you will not return to my class, regardless of _who you know_ or _what you do_."

Neville anxiously continued to write, and Harry felt sure that it was more to keep him from thinking too much than to record anything. He wondered if Neville would make it through potions…his friend had noble intentions, but he'd never done that well in Snape's class. Perhaps he shouldn't have come after all. On the other hand, Harry was still taking his eyesight potion, and while he still wore glasses, he felt his vision had improved noticeably. Neville had even made a new batch since school had started, and Harry hadn't noticed a difference between it and the first batch. Perhaps Connor would be able to help him – the large American was somewhat less intimidated by Snape than many of the other students – probably because he didn't share five years of miserable experiences with the rest of Hogwarts' students. The Professor went on, flicking his wand at the board in the front of the room, where writing appeared.

"You will create a potion we haven't yet studied as a class. There will be no variations of the potions we have already studied unless I approve them. There must be at least three distinctly separate stages in the brewing process. You will begin work on the potions after the winter break, doing _all_ work in class. If you must do out-of-class work, you must have it approved by me and there had better be a _very good reason_. You will also submit a report detailing each component and step in the creation of the potion: what it does, how it is prepared, and what the consequences of its misuse would be. This report will be at least sixty inches in length."

Snape paused in front of Harry, and stared directly at him, his dark eyes burning. "Notice that is the _minimum_. The surest way for you to fail this project is to _underachieve_. For some of you, this is not a choice." The Slytherins laughed again, and Harry felt his ears burning with rage. How he hated Snape!

"Moving along, today we are looking at puratives. Who can give me an example? Granger, you are in insufferable know-it-all; put your hand down. Longbottom?" Neville hadn't raised his hand and clearly looked terrified.

"Er…Snake Root?" The Slytherins burst into laughter and Snape sneered at Neville.

"Next time, Longbottom, try to stay within a thousand miles." As soon as Snape turned away, Neville looked to Harry.

"He didn't take points away!" The smile on his face was genuine, and the feeling spread to many of the other students by the end of the lesson. After they were dismissed for the day, Snape called out.

"Longbottom! I need to discuss your ineptitude in further depth." Draco and his cronies laughed but continued on today, apparently having had enough of the after-class altercations with Gryffindors, for the moment. "Colier! This concerns you as well, since you've taken on the unenviable task of caring for Longbottom's safety." That wasn't entirely true. He did pay attention to what Neville was doing, but that was because they'd hit it off well and paired off when they got to choose. Harry waited for Neville at the door, half expecting Snape to toss him out of the room. The professor simply ignored him. Harry only caught parts of the conversation, but he heard the words "Aztec" and "mulberry". On their way to Defense, Neville explained.

"He wanted to know where I'd got the recipe, and so I told him that it was from the Aztecs. He told me that they performed quite a lot of human sacrifice, and that something…more may be needed in the potion."

"Don't forget this," Connor said, handing Neville a piece of parchment.

"What's that?" Hermione asked.

"It's a recipe for a ghost repelling potion. Professor Snape said that he wasn't sure what the potion would do, and to drink that first, so you don't run into problems."

"He _helped_ you?"

"I know," Connor said dryly, "you may have to hold me while I faint."

On Saturday, Harry was called to the headmaster's office. At first, he thought the long-haired figure standing next to the headmaster was Draco Malfoy's father, Lucius. Then, when he got closer, he saw that he had the wrong Malfoy. Narcissa sneered derisively as Harry entered.

"Ah, Mister Potter. This will only take a moment. Mrs. Malfoy was simply enquiring about one of our student clubs here at the school. It seems-"

"What right have you to keep my son from a school sponsored activity, Potter? As if you haven't spread your filth enough, now you have to try to exclude him from that which isn't yours?"

"Actually, Narcissa, the particular club in question _is_ Mister Potter's; at least in part."

"And how could that little…whelp _possibly_ run any kind of wizarding club on his own? He's not even from a proper wizarding family!"

"Mrs. Malfoy, whatever your feelings in private, I must insist that you treat _all_ students with respect while you are within these walls."

"I'll treat the little mu – I'll treat him with the respect he's due." Narcissa said haughtily. Professor Dumbledore rose to his full height, and suddenly looked very intimidating indeed.

"I am afraid that is not a request, Narcissa."

"My Hu…My _friends_ will have something to say about that!"

"Doubtless he will, Narcissa." Then before she could interrupt, the headmaster continued. "Now, as I was saying, D.A. is a club started by some of the students to assist them in their learning of the defense against dark arts. It is not a school-sponsored activity, and therefore I have no power over who they let in or keep out, and neither do you."

"You don't fool me, Dumbledore. Last year, you tried to call them your army!"

"Ah, but as you see, I no longer need an army, now that people are aware of Voldemort's return," he paused thoughtfully, stroking his beard, "as doubtless you have discovered."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" she said, indignantly. Harry could think of at least two ways to take that, and he wasn't exceptionally quick-thinking. Dumbledore ignored her and turned to Harry.

"Mister Potter, I didn't mean to interrupt your day. I summoned you to answer a few questions for Mrs. Malfoy. Has the school endorsed your club in any way?"

"No," Harry replied.

"Have we provided resources, other than a room, in an official capacity?" Harry supposed "in an official capacity" ruled out Kingsley's work with him.

"No, sir."

"Have we enlisted any professors to assist you? Have we forced you to allow or disallow any students from attending?"

"No, sir."

"Are there others in your group who have invited students to attend?"

"Of course!"

"And should one of them invite Mister Malfoy, you'd allow him in?"

"Well, if one of them invited him, yes. I never will."

"And do you have a reason for not inviting Mister Malfoy?"

"Yes." Harry paused. It was obvious that Professor Dumbledore was doing his best to be civil, so he bit back what he was originally going to say. Instead of "Because he's a tremendous git," he settled for "He has a poor attitude regarding most of the other students."

"There you have it." Dumbledore said, turning to Narcissa with a satisfied look on his face. "Mrs. Malfoy, it is apparent to me, and by now it should be apparent to you, that Harry and his friends have sole discretion over what occurs in their club. Perhaps Draco should concentrate upon impressing those who _can_ invite him to become one of their number?"

"You haven't heard the last of me, Dumbledore," Narcissa threatened, spinning and heading for the door.

"Oh, I'm quite certain of that. Do feel free to tell your husband hello." There was a gleam in the old man's eyes as he smiled crookedly. After she'd gone, Dumbledore sat at his desk.

"I really didn't need for you to get involved, Harry. I simply wanted you to see that you need not subject yourself to anyone's will, no matter how imperious or important they may seem, good or bad."

"Thank you, Sir."

"I know you may…resent some of the decisions I've made, and I know you may resent what you see as my interference in your life." Dumbledore paused, perhaps waiting for Harry to interject. When he didn't, the Headmaster continued. "Please understand that I would ask nothing of you that I didn't feel was absolutely in your best interests, but that by no means makes my desires mandates." He paused again, and Harry remained silent, wondering if this was an attempt to address last year's outbreak after the Battle of the Ministry, or the Occlumency lessons, or perhaps simply to correct the general impression that Dumbledore was controlling his life. Harry had occasionally felt that other people were controlling his life – pulling his strings – but more often than not it seemed as if fate, or the world, or some God had slighted him, and not Albus Dumbledore. The headmaster _had_ upset him, at times infuriated him, but generally Harry was happy there was someone around who seemed to know what was going on.

"It's okay, sir," he said finally, "I understand. I'm okay," this time Harry paused, and after a moment of reflection added "…so far." Dumbledore nodded, tilted his head and favored Harry with the hint of a bemused smile.

"Out of curiosity, if one of your friends invited Mister Malfoy to a meeting, would you allow him?"

"Sure. But after what Hermione did to Marietta Edgecombe, would you?"

"Considering that, it is a good thing that decision is not mine to make." The old man smiled and his eyes twinkled.

"I've been meaning to ask you something, sir."

"Of course."

"It's just that…well, there's Quidditch, and it's not that I don't want to play this year, but..."

"You are wondering why we continue with such frivolities at a time like this?" Harry nodded. "The answer is difficult to grasp in its simplicity – Most of life is mundane. Just think of all of your most cherished memories, and consider how many of them came as a result of trivial or idle pursuits. If we allow Voldemort to take away the small pleasures in our lives, what comes next?" Harry didn't answer, and the Headmaster continued. "People become frustrated. Frustration leads to anger, anger leads to conflict, and conflict to disunity. We would, in the end, be serving Voldemort's cause. Though we need to be ever-vigilant at a time like this, we need these small escapes now more than ever. We need to not only want to save lives, but we want to make those lives worth living. There are those who are willing to sacrifice everything at a time like this, but often times they give _too much_. They save lives at the expense of living. Do you understand, Harry?"

"I suppose so, yes. It makes me feel a bit better about playing, then, knowing that perhaps I'll keep people positive for a bit."

"And that, Harry, is one of the many things I dearly love about you. Rarely have I met someone so unselfish." Harry blushed because he felt the Headmaster was embellishing the truth. At times he'd been justifiably selfish. "And that reminds me," Professor Dumbledore continued, "I have entertained notions of resuming an old tradition. Tell me, how would you feel about another Yule Ball? The year of the tournament was the first we've had in quite some time, and I thought it was quite well received." Harry cringed when he thought of the fiasco that had occurred at the Ball.

"After the last one, I don't know if anyone in their right mind would go with me." Dumbledore smirked as he peered over his glasses.

"Perhaps we shall see. Is there anything I can do for you? Anything at all?"

"I think I'm good, sir," Harry replied, nervously entertaining thoughts of Hermione and another Yule ball. Only one word could possibly describe such an opportunity, and that word was _disaster_.

For a while, nothing new came from Voldemort, no one got in fights, and life seemed about as normal as it ever would. Quidditch practice stepped up, and they were now less than a week from their first match. Katie had N.E.W.T.s this year, but still spent a lot of time working out Quidditch details. She was able to multi-task well, and Harry had seen places in her notes where she hurriedly scribbled in a note of strategy, or sketched a diagram of a new Red Formation. Every night they came back to the dormitories dead tired, and often they could think of little else but sleep. Twice more, Harry saw Dean follow Connor, but neither showed up with anything broken or missing, so he didn't think anything further of it. On Friday night, Harry fell asleep on one of the sofas in the common room. This had been happening more and more frequently, as he took to reading late on the weekends, and sometimes didn't get around to his Occlumency exercises, which he did before he went to sleep during the week. More than once he'd awoke at three or four in the morning to wander blearily up to the dormitory and his waiting bed.

This time, when Harry drowsily opened his eyes, he heard something behind him. Quickly, and as quietly as he could, he pulled his wand from his pocket. A book was lying on his lap, and his hand and wand were under it. The common room was dark at this hour, and the figure slipping through it was little more than a shadow.

"Parvati?" The shadow jumped.

"Oh! Hello, Harry…I didn't see you there. Bit late, isn't it?"

"I could say the same thing to you," Harry said. "What are you doing wandering around at…" He paused and looked at his watch. "…at 3:35 in the morning?"

"I was in the astronomy tower, if you must know."

"Oh really?" Parvati must have seen the look on his face, because she spun on him with her hands on her hips, looking for just a moment like Hermione when she was about to lecture.

"Doing Astronomy! Not everyone is there on a snogging mission, you know. It just so happens that the sky is very clear tonight, and that Mars is…"

Harry dropped his wand before she saw it and raised his hands in submission, and Parvati laughed. It wasn't her normal giggle, which, between Lavender and her could get fairly annoying, but a true laugh. It sounded quite nice.

"And what are _you_ doing down here? Problems?"

"No more than usual," Harry said. "You know how it goes. Dark Wizards, and the like."

"Of course. Well, goodnight, Harry."

"Goodnight, Parvati."

Parvati slipped through the door that led to the girls' dormitories, and Harry gathered up his books and wand and made his way back to his own bed. After his talk with Parvati, he was somewhat anxious, so he did his Occlumency exercises until he drifted back to sleep. He couldn't yet clear his mind, but he found that filling it with junk would often bore him to sleep.

Parvati was correct; Friday was clear, and thus Saturday was cold. They had only two more practices until their first match, so Ron and others had stayed for a pick-up match. Natalie, their newest Chaser, had moved to Seeker for this game. Emer Rath, a reserve Chaser, and the Creevey brothers, who were tentatively slated to be their starting beaters, were also chasers. Sloper and Kirke filled in as beaters. They had performed admirably as replacements for the Weasley brothers last year, but were obviously more replacement caliber than everyday players, so they voluntarily placed themselves on reserve, to Katie's great relief.

Against them, various students were playing for a team anchored by Seamus as Keeper and Ginny and Katie Bell as Chasers. Harry would play Seeker one of every few games. He felt that he was as ready as he was going to be for the match with Slytherin.

At first, Katie had filled their practices with standard drills, over and over, and sometimes it felt as if Harry could fall into position with his eyes closed, which was of course exactly what was supposed to happen. Later, they'd done the same thing with more complex formations. The Creevey brothers had a unique style of play; neither was very large, and Dennis was actually a bit small. To overcome that, they'd adopted a style of play invented by the Holyhead Harpies, who'd often had beaters that weren't as big and strong as those of the competition.

One Creevey, usually Dennis, because he was more agile and able to get into position faster, would hit the bludger first, aiming it and putting a good charge into it. Colin, who was bigger and stronger than his brother, would hit it again as it flew by, adding velocity and adjusting its direction, if necessary. It was certainly impressive to watch, and Harry was quite awed at how coordinated they were. They took the style to the enemy players as well, often "stealing" their Bludger and redirecting it at their convenience with a light tap or shifted bat, which was guaranteed to infuriate and frustrate opposing teams. The only negative aspect Harry saw so far was that unlike the Weasleys, who had an aggressive, charging style, sometimes the Creeveys had difficulties with Bludgers hit directly towards them. With the Slytherin team, which contained two stupid but large and powerful beaters, that could prove to be a problem, but they'd deal with that when they got there. If worse came to worse, Sloper and Kirke were larger than the Creeveys, and could probably hold their own against Crabbe and Goyle. The problem with that happening was even thought the Creeveys were from a Muggle family, they were very fast and fairly good fliers. Sloper and Kirke were considerably slower, and since Katie didn't want the effectiveness of the very quick chasers to be limited by slow beaters, she had invested a lot of time in the Creeveys, polishing them as best she could. Privately, Harry felt that alone, neither of them would have made it on the team, but they knew each other so well it was like having one player on two separate brooms. Perhaps that was one aspect that had made the Weasleys so effective. It seemed that Katie wanted to believe that they could make it work, but also that she wanted to see them in action.

Ron looked even better than he had at the end of last year, and Harry's sole hope for him was that his head didn't get too large to fit through the scoring rings. He felt that was entirely possible, and Ron was already nearly insufferable at times. Vicky Frobisher had tried out again, but since she still maintained that she would ditch Quidditch should a conflict arise, Katie didn't give her a second look for the team. Vicky did mention that she'd be happy to help with practices, which was quite polite of her. Seamus Finnigan turned out to be a good enough Keeper and Chaser to be named to their reserve squad for both, though he was a bit slower than the three starting Chasers, so if he saw time it would probably be at Keeper. Katie left a few positions on their reserve team unfilled. She explained that she felt the team as it stood now, with Rath, Finnigan, Sloper, and Kirke on reserve, had plenty of depth because they could rotate positions and maintain the same team. She liked their flexibility; they wouldn't have to worry about getting team practice in for so many players, and theoretically, she argued, it would keep their team chemistry better. Harry could see the advantages right away, but the real test would be whether they handled Slytherin well in only a few days.

During a break, they assembled into their full starting squad, and ran through what would be their last full practice before the match. Katie shouted directions as the team swooped like fighter pilots in formation.

"Good! Nat, you have to drop _below_ me when we do this! Dennis, cover the blind side! That's right, drop back! Red One, Gold Thirty-Two." Katie's voice was hoarse from yelling, but she never stopped barking instructions, even through one marathon that had seen them on their brooms for nearly six hours. They'd mastered falling in and out of what Katie wanted them to think of as their "standard" formation, something she had begun calling _Red One_. The formations were all numbered and labeled as "Red," while those plays which were called on the fly were "Gold". Each position player had a number, which, once actual play commenced, would change before each game. The numbers Katie called on a gold play were the players who were supposed to take the shot and the next go-to player, if the first had none. The first time Katie had explained it, the entire team had groaned in exasperation. In the following weeks, they'd discovered it was actually a very good plan, and no one complained anymore.

Ron and Harry, having little part in the position plays, had stationary numbers. Ron was always six, and Harry seven. Katie promised they'd be involved in at least a few gimmick plays, but for the time being Harry was happy enough to be the Seeker, and he was pretty sure Ron felt the same way as Keeper.

So far, the team had mastered three Red formations beyond Red One, two of which were simply renamed hawk's head and diamond formations, and was making significant progress on fine-tuning the teamwork behind the golds.

"Red Thirty-One! Red Thirty-One!" Red Three had the chasers in a diamond formation, with the lead position taken by Dennis Creevey. Colin flew directly to the right of his brother, in front of and to the right of Katie Bell, who as the best Chaser was the right point of the diamond. Ginny was the rear point of the diamond, and Natalie MacDonald, who could use her left hand nearly as well as her right, was the left point. Red Thirty-One had player number one – today it was Natalie – drop below and behind the formation. If Katie wanted to swap players' positions for a better match-up, she'd call the two players' numbers. A Red Three-Twenty-Three was the same formation as a Red Three, except the number two and number three players swapped spots. None of the players seemed to have a problem flying by the numbers, but calling complex Red plays on the fly didn't come easily to anyone but Katie, and surprisingly, Ron.

Of course, once they'd gotten in formation and were actually flying full tilt, calling out anything became next to impossible. It was then that all the practice falling in and out of Red One became immensely valuable.

All in all, Harry felt that they stood a relatively good chance of taking the Quidditch cup, even with a fairly young team.

Sunday, they didn't have practice. It wasn't through lack of trying, though; Slytherin had booked the Quidditch pitch all day. Katie Bell cursed and raved, but it was to no avail. Harry was actually happy to have a day of rest, but he didn't admit it around her. Instead, Ron, Hermione, and he spent a good portion of the day sharing notes for all the classes they had together. Ron was flipping back and forth between pages, and making a list of topics and the pages on which they were covered. He refused to take any note twice, and would actually spend more time and effort in avoiding duplicating notes than it would take to simply write things down again.

"There has _got_ to be an easier way to do this. Hermione, isn't there a way to make these things chain reference, or something?"

"What do you mean, 'chain reference'?"

"Well look! Here I have things about the Spatium Sinus spell, and then where he talks about the Tempus Sinus spell and the Spatium Sinus again. Then later, he talks about the Spatium Tornare and he brings up Spatium Sinus and Tempus Sinus again! There has got to be a way to write everything about them in one place, and then be able to…I don't know, chain find everything else about it."

"You know," Hermione said, "that's not a bad idea. I'm sure there's a way to do it, but I'll have to think about it. Something like Magical Indexes, hey?"

"Sure, something like that. I'm just sick of writing everything down twice."

"You've never written anything down twice," Hermione retorted.

"In fact, most times you don't even write it once." Harry added.

"Ha ha; very funny. I'll have you know I've been studying at least an hour a day this year, sometimes more."

"An hour? Well, that's impressive then!" Hermione jabbed. "Most days, I don't get that much studying in until breakfast." This started another friendly tirade that carried them well into the afternoon.

Monday, Harry had an exam in Muggle Studies. He'd forgotten about it until Sunday night, but fortunately he didn't need to study all that hard for that class. Generally, he only had to pay attention to the places where the wizards were totally off about Muggles. There were still quite a few of those, but not enough to make slacking impossible. Much of the hard work came from catching up with the previous five years, before O.W.L.s.

Because of this, he really didn't have to concentrate much while he took his exam. It was fifteen minutes before he realized that he could smell something exotic – spicy and sweet at the same time. He glanced over to see Parvati had moved very close to him, so close, in fact, that when she got to the edge of her parchment, her arm brushed his. He enjoyed it, but didn't think much of it. Later, after the exam, it occurred to him that she was probably copying his answers. Part of him wanted to be mad, but it was quelled by the part of him that enjoyed the feel of her arm against his and her scent. Some evils, Harry judged, were lesser evils. Besides, Parvati was probably better off cheating on the exams and asking Harry anyway, if she was at all interested in Muggles.

Late Tuesday, Harry, Hermione, and Neville were comparing Potions notes. Ron sat with them, trying to force out a Temporalism essay that was due on Friday, and Ginny had her Care of Magical Creatures book open next to some Quidditch strategies that she'd been toying with. On the paper, small stick figures mounted on brooms chased each other. Occasionally, Ginny would tap one and drag it someplace else, and it would follow, kicking and screaming, to its new home in the formation. Then it would promptly forget about not wanting to move and launch into the new position with gusto. Around the Common Room, others were studying and talking.

"Oh, great," Ron mumbled.

"Oh, no," Ginny added.

"What?" Harry asked, not looking up from his work.

"Dean and Connor," Ron said. "I'm not putting up with anything this time. If they start in, I'm going to move everyone out and let them fight." That got Harry and Hermione's attention, and they both looked up to see Connor and Dean Thomas coming through the portrait hole. Hermione took a deep breath, obviously about to speak, but Harry put his hand on her arm.

Dean and Connor weren't fighting; in fact, they looked to be getting along famously. Connor was laughing and Dean was moving his hands excitedly, obviously in the middle of a story or joke.

"I don't believe it." Ron breathed.

"Me either," Hermione said, "but I won't look a gift horse in the mouth."

"A gift horse…" Ron tried to sort it out in his head. As Connor and Dean stepped up to the table, something moving on the ground outside caught Harry's eye. He peered out the window into the late afternoon gloom.

"Look! There she is again!" Everyone rushed to the window to see the black-haired witch She was again dancing across the lawn, and she must have had some sort of warming charm, because it was still chilly, and she wore only her plaid skirt and a short jacket. This time, she wasn't alone, as a tall, dark-haired man was with her.

"That's Professor Walken," Hermione said thoughtfully.

"Sure is, but we didn't really care who he was, did we? I want to know more about her!" Seamus was at the window in a flash, ready to catch another sight of the mystery witch. He'd been quite taken with her the first time they had seen her, and wanted another look.

"I told you she was Scottish. See that tartan?"

"Did anyone find out who she was?" Lavender asked, "I know _I_ tried to find out, and nobody knew anything! I felt like quite the fool, getting looks when I asked who the new student was: 'Who's the new student' I'd ask, and they'd say 'You should know, he's in _your_ house!'"

"I don't know that she's a student," Katie Bell said, "I mean, it's probably not against any rules, but I doubt a student would flirt so much with a professor, or vice versa."

"But I wouldn't mind him looking at _me_ like that!" Lavender said. "What? He's dead sexy!" Parvati was giggling and Hermione flashed Lavender a tired look. Lavender giggled as well. "Oh come off it, Herm…it's not like you weren't ga ga over the Three-Time-Winner-of-Witch-Weekly's 'Most Charming Smile' Professor Lockhart!"

"But everyone was!" Hermione pleaded. "Anyway, he didn't flirt with the students!"

"They aren't flirting!" Seamus said, almost hopefully, as he shielded his eyes with his hands so he could see into the darkness. They were dancing now, hand in hand, as the wind swirled the black-haired witch's hair around her head and Professor Ambrose's cloak around them both. "Well…all right. Maybe they are. Maybe she's not a student then."

The nameless witch took a fleeting look up at the window, as if she knew the Gryffindors were watching her. She shot a dazzling smile and turned back to her dance. Harry thought that he could hear faint singing.

"I'm ready, this time," Ron whispered, bursting into a sprint towards his dormitory. He returned a moment later with something Harry hadn't seen in a long time.

"Had mum send them, in case we saw her again!" Seamus recognized the omnioculars immediately, because he'd been to the World Quidditch Cup match several years prior when they'd bought them. "Instant replay!" Ron said merrily, as he raised them to his face.

"That's brilliant, is what that is." Seamus remarked. Even Hermione looked somewhat surprised at Ron's quick thinking. They took turns passing around the omnioculars, and all there agreed that the mystery witch was certainly pretty, but that they didn't know her. Ron saved the best looks to replay later at their leisure, and the omnioculars happily informed him that what he was really seeing was not a strange witch that shouldn't even have been at Hogwarts, but rather the 'Nicholas Maneuver'. Even in spite of that, Harry and Ron were very pleased with the night's results, and Seamus was nearly infatuated.

Finally, Professor Walken and the strange witch took their romanticism elsewhere. When the crowd around the window dispersed, Ginny glanced at Dean, who'd put an arm on her shoulder when he stood behind her.

"You're grubby."

"You're pretty," Dean responded, without a pause.

"You should both go somewhere else before I toss." Ron actually looked somewhat ill. Ginny giggled and Dean smiled, punching Ron on the arm, leaving a smudge the size of his fist. Ron scowled at and immediately tried to brush off which only made it worse. Harry took a closer look at Dean. He was indeed grimy, and so was Connor. Whatever pastime Connor had found to keep him perpetually soiled, Dean was now involved. _'Well, that only makes sense,'_ Harry thought, _'Dean wants to kill Connor, Connor provides a new way to get absolutely grimy, and then Dean doesn't want to kill him anymore.' _Or maybe they did fight. Harry was sure he'd hear about it sometime soon, but for now, he wanted to leave well enough alone. He was busy enough without taking on someone else's problems.

Minutes later, long over-due inspiration struck Harry. He had the Marauder's Map, after all; it should tell him who the mystery witch was! He wasn't as infatuated with her as Seamus, or even Ron, but he was curious. He jogged up to the dormitory and retrieved the map from his chest.

"I solemnly swear I am up to no good!" The blank parchment filled in with all of the details of the castle and its occupants. Someone came into the dorm, and Harry stuffed the map on top of a stack of other parchment, hoping they didn't notice. It was Ron, and he did notice.

"Ah, I was just coming to ask you about that. Forgot about it, didn't we? What's it say?"

Harry searched for Professor Walken.

"We missed her. He's talking to McGonagall now."

"Blimey. Well, you'll have to be a little faster on it, next time."

"Let me see the omnioculars," Harry asked.

"Seamus has them. I think he's in love."

"In love with a professor's girl friend? Brilliant, that; he'd be lucky to escape being turned into an old gaffer, or a baby."

"My money says he'd just stick Seamus in a bubble for fifty years or so, and call it good."

"I've thought about doing that myself," Harry replied, laughing. The two wandered back to the waiting Common Room, and their best friends in the world.


	11. Chapter 11 The Two Triumphs

**author's note**

I now have two people willing to beta for me! Bless them! Please note that I only ran this chapter by one of them, so I could get it up faster, and I didn't take all of her suggestions, so if something is wrong, I was probably warned.

It's all my fault!

**/author's note**

**Chapter 11 – The Two Triumphs**

Harry awoke the next morning ready for Quidditch. Even the newly carved "Harry Potter should get stuffed" on his bureau couldn't dampen his spirits much, though it did pique his curiosity. Weeks ago, he'd asked Hermione for a spell that would repair it, since the standard "_Repairo!"_ didn't seem to work. She'd come up with one about a week later, and it worked brilliantly. Though that didn't solve the mystery of who was behind the apparent prank, at least it was easier to fix, and hide from his dorm-mates.

"What's that?" Ron asked, leaning over Harry to get a look at where the tiny words had been gouged into the English Oak bureau. He was too late, though; Harry had already cast the charm to remove the graffiti, and there was nothing to be seen but solid wood. Harry looked at Ron with what he hoped was a sufficiently surprised face.

"Oh, don't look at me as if _I'm_ crazy! I just saw you cast something!"

"Why Ron, whatever do you mean?" Harry managed to keep a straight face, but only with the greatest of difficulty.

"You're going soft in the head, mate," his friend replied, but with the traces of a smile. The way Connor had hung back suggested to Harry that he'd noticed something as well, but for the moment, no words were exchanged. That was good, because Harry wasn't keen on arguments this early in the morning.

It was difficult for him to keep his mind on his work, and more than one professor caught him unaware. Professor Shacklebolt had to ask him a question twice that he easily should have answered the first time, and Parvati Patil had nearly broken her quill off in Harry's leg when he was daydreaming in Muggle Studies. He had to brush her hand away when she placed it on his thigh while trying to survey the damage, insisting that she hadn't done anything to him. It left him feeling sore in the leg, fluttery in the chest, and momentarily diverted his attention from Quidditch to girls – surprisingly enough – to Parvati rather than Hermione.

She was pretty, Harry thought. Dean Thomas had once called her the prettiest girl in their year, and had Dean not been dating Ginny, perhaps they'd even be involved. She was reasonably intelligent, and, when she wasn't giggling with her ever-present cohort Lavender Brown, she was quite pleasant to talk to. Then again, Harry remembered the failed Yule Ball before the Tri-Wizard Tournament, and he was quite certain she wouldn't have anything further to do with him then sitting next him in Muggle Studies. Mere seconds later, he was thinking about Quidditch again.

After class, they had the last Quidditch practice before tomorrow's match. Slytherin had the pitch booked later in the evening, so the Gryffindors wanted to get things going as soon as they could. Harry rushed straight there after class to find some of his teammates were already preparing. Ginny and Ron were standing apart, while Natalie was talking to Connor, who was leaning casually against the side of the stands. Katie Bell and Emer were both standing near Natalie, as were half a dozen other young women. It was obvious from the looks on their faces that they weren't there to talk to her. Ron had noticed this, and was preparing to launch into one of his nearly legendary rants.

"Bloody Yank and his bloody harem of women!"

"I thought you were getting along with Connor," Harry remarked, casually.

"Look at that! All those girls flocking around him like he's some kind of, some kind of hero! _You're_ the real hero here! They should be flocking around _you_! And he's not much of a proper wizard, is he? Always fighting with his fists…" Ron trailed off, presumably to search his brain for a few more things to be mad about. Harry didn't mention that he would rather not have all of the women flocking around him, and that he was at least a little grateful that Connor drew their attention from him. He'd spent far too long being the center of other peoples' attention, and was happy enough to be left alone. He also didn't mention all the times that Ron himself had tried to throttle Malfoy. By then, Ron found something else that bothered him. "And another thing; he's always acting so mysterious, when really he's just tetchy, isn't he?"

"I kind of like it," Harry said carefully, trying to decide which answer would cause the least conflict.

"You would," Ron replied, then imitated Connor's voice rather immaturely by saying, "Oh, look at _me_…I'm a tall Yank…would you like to see my _scars?_ They go from here to here," Ron extended one arm palm up and drew a line with his thumb that stretched from his wrist to his elbow.

"You want to know what I think? I think…" Ron stopped when he noticed Ginny and Harry were no longer looking at him. They were both staring at something over his left shoulder. "…I think he's right behind me, isn't he?" Ginny managed a small nod, and a soft, deep voice spoke behind him,

"Actually they don't go quite that far."

Ron immediately went red. Connor stepped around him and into the middle of their small circle. His mouth was smiling, but his eyes seemed remarkably sad. Harry was reminded of the time that, through a carelessly worded remark, Ron had sent Hermione crying into a girl's lavatory, where she had very nearly been killed by a rampaging troll. Connor raised his left arm, palm up, mirroring Ron's posture, and slowly pulled the sleeve of his robe back. A long, thin scar ran from the underside of his wrist to halfway up his muscular forearm, where it intersected another scar in something of a "T" shape.

"So you see," said Connor quietly, "They don't quite make it all the way up my arm. While I'm exposing myself is there anything else you'd like to see? Or have you had enough of me for one day?"

"Enough," Ron said, "we've had enough. Look, mate, I'm sor-"

"Oh no need to apologize," Connor stopped him, "I understand people are…curious. I hope this has satisfied your thirsty mind?"

Well, er, yea…. Sorry again, mate." Ron's entire face was scarlet, and he was obviously embarrassed. Everyone there seemed to feel it. Harry now felt sorry for both Ron and Connor, because he knew that Ron, while sometimes hasty, was very rarely downright mean on purpose to anyone other than Malfoy.

The encounter put a brief damper on their enthusiasm, but after three missed blocks and a Bludger that very nearly took his leg off at the knee, Ron seemed to shake it off. By the end of the practice, they were looking very good indeed. Harry had a very good feeling about tomorrow's match.

Later that night, Harry was standing in the midst of the beginners D.A., trying to keep an eye on thirty overly anxious students. He'd originally planned to let Hermione cover it, but she really was busy. Even with all that Harry had to do, he still didn't match Hermione's schedule. Also, he figured dealing with the generally keyed-up students might take his mind of the match tomorrow. He hadn't been so excited about Quidditch in a long time.

"What's with Hagrid?" Ron whispered. Harry wasn't sure, but Hagrid was squirming and fidgeting as much as any of the students. Harry assigned them into groups and had them practice throwing off laughing jinxes, and while the whole room was busy, made his way over to his friend.

"Are you feeling alright?"

"Why of course I am, Harry; of course! Why do you ask?"

"You seem a little anxious, is all. Giddy, even."

"Well, maybe something good is going to happen, and there aren't enough good things in these times, are there?"

"No," Harry replied, "I don't suppose there are. I'm sorry! I just wondered if there was something on your mind."

"Oh, don't mention it Harry! Maybe you'll see, in the next few days." Hagrid winked very theatrically and Harry walked away wondering if perhaps his friend had gotten hold of another baby dragon, or if Madame Maxime was planning a trip to Hogwarts. Those were the only times he could remember his friend acting like this.

Harry awoke at six the next morning and couldn't get back to sleep. For all the work he got done, his classes may have well been canceled, and though it seemed like the longest day of the year so far, he couldn't remember a minute of it when he was finally standing in the dressing room of the Quidditch clubhouse, ready to take the field. They had new uniforms, new pads, and their brooms were polished and ready. Harry only hoped he didn't look as nervous as he felt, but looking at the faces of the other players suggested to him that they also felt some apprehension. The girls all had their hair tightly braided in the same way, and Natalie's Silver Arrow, absent since the first practice, was gleaming in the late fall sunshine.

"Hello everybody," a smooth voice boomed over the pitch and through the boisterous crowd. "Owen Cauldwell here, replacing the fantastic Lee Jordan, and let me say what a pleasure it is to be with you today, I couldn't be happier!"

He sounded happy, too, talking so quickly some of the words seemed to slide together, and Harry strongly suspected that he'd taken lessons from Muggle sportscasters.

"Welcome again to another exciting year of Quidditch at beautiful Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. There's a light wind coming from the northwest which doesn't look to be a factor unless it picks up considerably, and it's only a bit chilly…"

"_A bit chilly_…you can tell he's never been on a broom up there…it's downright freezing when you really get going!"

"Be quiet, Ron," Ginny scolded. "You don't even fly up there…you just hover!"

"Just hover? I'd like to see you…" he never finished his thought though, as Ginny glared at him in the way only a daughter of Molly Weasley could.

"We're here today to watch two great teams square off in what promises to be a most interesting match! Both teams have lost significant talent to departing students…no, I shouldn't say that, it sounds as if they've gone and died…both teams have lost a good deal of talent and are now in what some would consider a rebuilding year. Slytherin lost three veterans and Gryffindor three, although only two of Gryffindor's remaining players have more than a year's experience…"

"I wish he'd shut-up," Ron muttered to Harry. "I already _know_ we lost half the team. I already _know_ we've got four players with a year or less experience. It's going to be hard enough already!"

"He's just doing his job!" Katie said sharply, "let him alone. He's there for the crowd, not us, so you just ignore him and concentrate on your job. Keep the rings safe."

Slytherin had lost their Keeper and two Chasers, and Draco was now their team captain. He tried to stare Katie down as Madame Hooch recited the rules, and Katie stared right back, refusing to release his gaze for even an instant.

"I want a _good clean match_," Madame Hooch stated, glaring at Goyle and Crabbe, "no funny business!" With that she threw the Quaffle into the air and the match started.

"And they're in the air, and right away Gryffindor comes up with the Quaffle. They look to have a _very quick_ team this year. Natalie MacDonald is riding what looks like a…a…yes, it's a vintage Silver Arrow, and it's keeping up quite well with all these modern brooms. Who knew they made them so well, back then? MacDonald easily avoids a Bludger from Goyle and drops behind Bell. Bell takes the pass _without looking_ and she's got a shot…she's got it…she's got it…she _does_ have it as she shoots and scores for the first ten points of the match."

Harry was looking everywhere for the Snitch, but it was as if had vanished into thin air.

"Pritchard comes up with the loose Quaffle, and he…Scores! He scores for the first time today…Weasley is doing a passable job at Keeper, despite only having one year of experience." Ron glared at Owen and nearly missed the next shot, which hit him squarely on the thigh and nearly spun him around. "Weasley again masterfully blocks the shot and then…oh and then he _kicks it_ directly into the beautiful and capable hands of his sister, Ginny Weasley."

Harry circled and circled, Owen kept up his continuous verbal barrage, and the game seemed to drag…never had Harry played so hard. The Snitch didn't reveal itself for almost an hour, which left things in the hands of the Chasers, Beaters, and Keepers. One nice thing about their team being so fast was that the Bludgers seemed to come at Harry less frequently than they had in the past.

"And that makes it 110 to 90, Slytherin. The Slytherin chasers don't have the percentages that Gryffindors do tonight, but they've gotten nearly twice the shots off, and that's made all the difference.

"Ooh, and there's another nasty hit from Vincent Crabbe, he nearly took the little Creevey's head off with that; well, they're both little, but you know what I mean, in any event. One thing you can say for those Slytherin beaters…they're big, and strong, and they can certainly hit.

"It looks like Katie Bell is going to call in Sloper and Kirke, probably to give the Creeveys a breather. And there's a shot, Weasley is going to block…no, no he just missed that one, and at fifty-eight minutes into the match, Gryffindor is down by three goals: 120 to 90. Beaters Kirke and Sloper are better equipped to deal with Crabbe and Goyle, but they aren't anywhere near is fast as the brothers Creevey…it looks like switching to slower beaters may have fouled up Captain Bell's game plan…and another shot blocked! Weasley is managing to make a respectable showing, but he's taking a tremendous beating in the process…he must have really practiced over the summer…that slide would make Oliver Wood proud! I didn't know a broom could move like that!"

Flying overhead in a search pattern, Harry could see his friend's eyes bulge slightly at that last comment. '_You don't know the half of it, Owen,'_ Harry thought to himself. Ron also sported a scuffed cheek, torn sleeve, and bleeding knuckles, souvenirs of a fantastic block where he'd followed one of the Slytherin chasers into a dive and then pulled up at the last moment, anticipating the shot and blocking it off his hands, which were still wrapped around his broomstick.

Natalie, on the other hand, was a different story entirely. Draco Malfoy had nearly injured himself laughing when he saw her take to the pitch with a Silver Arrow. Harry was pleased to note that the smug and revolting look had quickly been replaced by one of open astonishment as she launched into a flight display that put to shame everyone else on the field. The look had continued to deteriorate, and now he managed to look both venomous and horrified every time Natalie caught the Quaffle and threaded delicately through hoards of players and Bludgers. She was an unstoppable force defensively as well; an ever-present threat to steal and disrupt plays.

Harry was a very good on a broom; this he knew, but Natalie MacDonald may have been the best flier he had ever seen.

"There's _another _for MacDonald, and for all you people keeping track, more than half the goals so far have been scored or assisted by Natalie. Slytherin recovers and drives right down the middle…Bell steals…looks like she's going to hand it off to MacDonald…but _no_ she keeps it! She keeps it and she's _just_ denied by the Slytherin keeper on a fine block. I tell you, that MacDonald has been selfless all night. Just there she acted as a decoy and you can see what it did to Gregory Goyle as…oh and Slytherin scores on a nice assist from Pritchard…Gryffindor recovers, and watch MacDonald as she _screams_ through the Slytherin defenders! She's pure Bludger-bait there folks; that's not a scoring drive! Both captains are calling plays masterfully, but Bell seems to adapting well to Slytherin's very physical play.

"Seamus Finnigan is now coming in to give MacDonald a bit of a rest, and she needs it, I can tell you! Natalie is looking really good so far and no one on that team wants to lose her to an injury.

"Here comes the old tap and drive from Dennis Creevey, and here comes his brother to give it a bit of a push! Doesn't work all the time but it looks special when it does, that's for sure…and that one goes _right through the brush_ on one of the Slytherin brooms. That's a real loss, there, that will hurt them later in the season. It looks like they're bringing in a reserve Comet..."

Through the ever-present commentary, Harry knew it was a war of attrition, and he also knew that if he didn't find the Snitch, Slytherin's faster brooms and stronger beaters could spell doom for the Gryffindor squad.

Finally, at two hours and five minutes into the match, Harry saw the snitch very low to the ground near the Slytherin rings, closer to Draco than him. He knew Draco's style involved following him around until he found the Snitch, and then trying to out-race him for it, and he knew that Draco's broom, while not as fast as his, was very quick. Harry shifted as if he was going to fly into a higher flight pattern to search the sky above the pitch, looping around the stadium until he was directly behind the Slytherin rings. Just as he reached the rings he angled his broom to climb quickly towards the space over the rings on the Gryffindor side of the pitch.

"Gryffindor Seeker Harry Potter looks as though he might have seen the Snitch…he's really picking it up, though I believe that Firebolt has something left in it even now…"

Harry made sure that Draco was behind him and then intentionally spun the backside of his broom, causing it to wobble and dip while he slid forward on the handle as if he was about to fall off.

"And it looks as if Potter has had a broom malfunction…he is going straight down, folks! Slytherin Seeker and Captain Draco Malfoy is taking advantage of the disaster and _look at him move!_"

Draco rocketed over Harry, following Harry's trajectory high into the sky. Harry continued to wobble for a moment longer until he was certain that Draco was too far away to re-commit to this side of the pitch, and then pulled out of the dive just meters above the ground. Draco's broom was so fast that he was now far over Ron's head and he still hadn't looked back at Harry. Somewhere in the back of Harry's mind, he registered Owen's quick-tempo speeding up even more as the commentator nearly went ballistic with excitement, but he had no time for such things now. The Snitch had moved about half way up one of the ring masts and was hovering merely inches away, and Harry heard people in the stands gasp as they saw him regain control of his broom only to see him head straight for a pole at high speed.

He dropped towards the pitch, letting his broom spin all the way down, and distinctly remembered hearing the Slytherin keeper laughing, until he held out his hand and released the Golden Snitch. The crowd went wild, and Harry touched down lightly in the center of the pitch where he was immediately mobbed by his teammates.

"Unbelievable! Unbelievable! I've never seen anything like it, and I've seen a lot of them, I can tell you! Harry Potter pulls an entirely new move out of his bag of tricks to come up with the Golden Snitch…it's…simply…un-be-lievable!"

Ron, Seamus, Sloper, and Kirke roughly picked Harry up and carried him on their shoulders, as Ginny, Emer, Natalie, and Katie all surrounded them, followed by hundreds of cheering students. Harry didn't know who was happier that he was back – him, or the Gryffindor fans.

In spite of all the apprehension that had led up to his return to Quidditch, Harry decided that his un-retirement had been successful. Later, they had one of the largest after-match parties that Harry could remember. The team had returned to see the Common Room done up as never before, with posters that had Harry's face on them along with mottos such as "The Triumphant Return of Harry Potter" and "Now You've Gone and Made Me Mad". There were wizard photographs that must have been taken during the match of Katie, Ginny, Natalie, and Seamus scoring goals, and of Emer's two assists and two steals. There was one of Harry in his wobbling dive, which someone had dubbed "The Potter Crash and Burn" in the caption below. Harry figured it must have been a Muggle-born student, since most of the wizard-born students wouldn't have heard the phrase before, or known what it meant if they had. Even those who hadn't, like Ron, all agreed it sounded cool anyway. There were pictures of the Creeveys and Sloper and Kirke deflecting Bludgers, and one of the mob scene after the game, complete with Draco Malfoy arguing with the Slytherin Keeper in the background. There were roaring lions and fireworks from Zonko's and the Weasley twins, and every type of sweet under the sun. For a while the entire team was passed through the commons as if they were a new treat to be sampled, and no one was able to escape for quite some time.

Two hours into the party, Connor and Ron decided to make a trip to the Three Broomsticks for another case of butterbeer. It had been a while since Harry had done any sneaking around, and he felt rusty. There was no way the three of them would fit under the invisibility cloak, so they had Harry wear it and carry the Marauders' Map, and decided that whomever was carrying the butterbeer - probably Connor since he was the biggest - would wear it on the way back.

On the way there, Harry noticed Connor wearing a leather sash that was covered with loops, which held small bottles.

"What's that?" Harry asked.

"It's my bandolier."

"What's in it?"

"Those are my potions."

"What do they do?" Ron added.

"Well…some make me larger, some make me smaller, and some don't do anything at all. Some make me sneakier, and some make me noisier…I really have one for almost every occasion."

"That's pretty handy, there," Ron admitted, "I could use one of those." They chatted most of the way to the three broomsticks, using secret passages and less-traveled ways to get there and back. On their way back to the common room, Harry stopped them. He was outside the cloak, but still had the map.

"What's going on?" Connor asked. "This stuff is getting kind of heavy."

"Peeves is about to come around the corner!" Harry moaned. "Find an open door, quick! If he sees us, we're done for sure!" There were no doors in this stretch of hallway, however, and their doom seemed certain. Just as Harry was about to make a run for the far corner behind them, Connor's face appeared in the air. It was followed by his hand, which held a small grey bottle.

"_One sip each!_" Harry unscrewed the top and took a small sip. The potion tasted airy, as if he were drinking some very fizzy sparkling water. He passed the vial to Ron, who took a sip and gave it back to Connor, who finished it off and then threw the invisibility cloak back over his head just as Peeves bounced around the corner. He was singing a nonsense song, and as he got closer to them he slowed down and peered about, as if he knew someone was hiding but couldn't quite locate them. Harry was standing directly in front of where Peeves was floating, but to his astonishment, Peeves finally bounced right through Ron and carried on down the hallway as if they were invisible. When he'd gone, they continued back to the Gryffindor tower as quietly as they could. On their way up the stairs, Harry studied the map carefully until he was certain they'd be safe. Finally, Ron asked something Harry had been wondering about himself.

"What was that potion?"

"That was Neville's Ghost Repelling Draft," Connor answered. "I didn't really know how it would work myself. I'm glad it did."

"I'm pretty sure if we'd have had three doses instead of splitting the one, he'd have kept right on going without slowing," Harry said.

"Where did Neville get that?" Ron asked. Harry laughed.

"You won't believe this, Ron: Snape gave it to him!"

"Snape? Why on earth would he give him that?"

"Neville's sixth-year project is to make a potion has something to do with ghosts. Snape said that if he was going to try to do that, he should at least make sure the first time he used it he was protected from them, in case it did something bad."

"Blimey," Ron said with a smirk, "what do you reckon old Snape would say if he realized that he just gave us a proper way to sneak by the ghosts at night?"

"I think he'd say 'fifty-points each, and Longbottom is out of my class'." They all jumped and Harry spun to see Professor Shacklebolt behind them. A minute ago the professor was in his office; it was a matter of bad luck that he'd come this way to his quarters instead of the more direct route.

"I'm not going to ask you gentlemen what you're doing out this late, or what you have hidden under that invisibility cloak, just so long as you promise me one thing."

"What's that," Ron asked.

"That you _strongly reconsider_ before doing it again. It may not have seemed like it over the last few months, but we are at war, and your safety is paramount." Professor Shacklebolt looked at Harry as he said this, and then focused his piercing gaze on Ron, and then the spot in between them where Connor was probably still standing. "Running around at night, for any reason, is inviting misfortune. I was under the impression that misfortune had your phone number, Harry. Inviting it to visit you…well, you should know better."

"Yes sir," Ron and Harry said. Connor remained silent, possibly hoping that he hadn't yet been suspected or discovered, even though the professor in fact knew that _someone_ was there under the cloak. Kingsley turned to go and then paused. He looked back over his shoulder.

"And gentlemen, that was a well-played game."

"Thank you, Professor," Harry and Ron echoed in unison.

"Yes, well, move along now, and mind the false steps." Harry found that last bit of advice particularly relevant, since it was a false step that had nearly gotten him caught out after hours during his forth year. Only Barty Crouch Junior, who was at the time using the Polyjuice Potion to impersonate Mad-Eye Moody, kept him from Snape and Mrs. Norris, the Caretaker's cat.

"Phone number?" Ron whispered, once they were a safe distance away. Connor laughed from beneath the cloak.

When they stepped back into the Gryffindor common room, the party was still going, although things had died down a little. It appeared that many of the students had used up some of their excess energy and were now engaged in slightly less boisterous activities.

"Not bad, Ron," Katie shouted across the room. "Thirty-two out of fifty-two blocked. Not quite up to Wood's standards, but it kept us going."

"Better than them, anyway," Ron replied, "we only got what…thirty shots or so, and we made half of them."

"And we had Harry!" Emer added, batting her eyes in his direction. Harry smiled at her, and she blushed madly, turning away. Dean took that moment to saunter down the stairs from the sixth-year boys' dormitories, carrying something large and gleaming.

"Ah," Connor said, "and so it arrives!"

"What is _that_?" Hermione said, looking at the fantastically shiny hunk of metal.

"This," Dean announced loudly, so that everyone paused and looked at him, "is the 'Most Valuable Player' award."

"We don't have a Most Valuable Player award," Hermione said. "Quidditch is a _team_ sport."

"It's up to the team captain, Miss Know-it-all." Dean looked to Katie, who had a surprised look on her face. The case of butterbeer had hit the students, and they were starting to come around again, although not as raucously as before. With sparkling eyes and pink lips, Katie grinned and nodded at Dean.

"Listen up! Seamus, put her down! Emer, quit flirting with Harry. And quit flirting with Ron, too. And Katie as well. Thank you! We have an announcement here! And just so you know," Dean said, looking at the sea of faces shining back at him, "all I did was make the award, and vote of course. The winner of this award was selected by a vote. Yes, thank you Ronald, we all know you suffered for your team." Ron had gone directly to Neville upon their return from the butterbeer run and was now nearly covered in the Murtlap bandages to the point that he looked like a red-haired mummy.

"So let's get the team up here. Everyone!" Dean was a master at playing to the crowd, and the Quidditch team was lining up in front of the entire house. Harry, the Creeveys, and Emer wore embarrassed looks, while Ron, Katie, and Ginny seemed to be taking it well. Seamus, Jack Sloper, and Andrew Kirke were all flexing proudly to a cacophony of catcalls from the girls of the house.

"Drum-rolls, if you please!" Most of the students started tapping out rolls on whatever was near them. "On the one hand, we have our four beaters, Colin, Dennis, Andy, and Jack, who permanently damaged a Slytherin Nimbus 2001. It's as if Christmas has come early when you see a thing like that! Let's have a hand for them!" The students clapped loudly and Dean cleared his voice, quieting them again.

"Then we have our Captain, Katie Bell, who scored five goals and had four assists! Yes thanks, she's as talented as she is beautiful! Ow!" Dean cringed as Ginny kicked him in the shin.

"Our Chaser reserves, Seamus Finnigan and Emer Rath, combined for a goal, three assists, and three steals, which wasn't bad considering the talent and brooms the Slytherin team has, and that it was their first game. Give them a hand!" The students clapped and cheered loudly and Emer blushed even more. She was starting to look like a Weasley.

"Ginny Weasley had three goals and three assists, and a steal! Yes, yes, _she's_ as talented as she is beautiful! _Ow!_" This time, it was Ron who'd kicked him.

"That brings us to our illustrious Keeper, Mister Ronald Weasley!" There was a larger cheer now, and Ron blushed as he raised his hands over his head in a gesture of acknowledgement. Harry could see him wince beneath his bandages. "Ron blocked better than three of five today. I think he also deserves some recognition for voluntarily choosing to cover himself, which, I might add, is a tremendous improvement. Two more of Neville's bandages and we could take care of the last glaring eyesore; his face." Everyone laughed and Dean continued while he had the crowd under control.

"Mister Harry Potter…" he started, and then had to stop while everyone cheered. "Mister Harry Potter risked his life to fool Malfoy. Now granted…" Dean paused again while everyone cheered. "Granted, that's not tough to do! But it takes something to get a maneuver named after you! Quidditch has been around a long time, but Harry continues to show us new things. The Potter Crash and Burn!" Everyone whistled and clapped, and Harry blushed a bit under the scrutiny of Gryffindor house.

"Ah, and now we come to the lady of the hour, Natalie MacDonald. Natalie had six goals, five assists, and _twelve _steals, not to mention she did it all while dazzling everyone who's ever flown a broom. When she took the pitch today, everyone laughed at her. Well, they're not laughing now, are they? And that's why she is the Most Valuable Player for tonight's game." The applause was deafening, and Natalie smiled impishly. By now it was getting quite late, and Harry expected a visit from Professor McGonagall any minute. When he'd been using the Marauders' Map earlier, she was with Professor Walken in his office. He hadn't checked since they'd gotten back, but as he gazed out towards the lake, he was hardly surprised to see two figures standing near the shore. One was obviously a witch with long, black hair, and the other a taller man. Whatever Walken had been doing with McGonagall earlier in the evening, he was with the mystery witch now. Harry was too tired to bother with going back up to the dorm for the Marauder's Map tonight; he'd figure it out eventually.

Instead, he turned back to study the trophy. It was a large shield on a large wooden base, and one small plaque was placed at the top left of the base, leaving room for a few dozen more. Natalie's name, position, and team were engraved on the small bit of silver, along with "_Slytherin V. Gryffindor"_. Touching her name caused the "Most Valuable Player" on the shield to be replaced with her statistics for the game and her portrait, which Dean must have drawn, since it was very good. Touching "Slytherin V. Gryffindor" prompted the game statistics. Harry was quite impressed, and was surprised at the quality of the work. Hermione even commented that it was a nice bit of enchanting, which was saying something.

At about midnight, Professor McGonagall stopped in to tell them to wind it up. She saw the trophy, and examined it for nearly two minutes before pronouncing it acceptable.

"I assume it was intended to travel between houses?"

"That's what we were intending," Dean said, "If that's allowed."

"I think it's a tremendous idea, Mister Thomas, and a fine trophy. I will speak with the other House Heads. Do try to keep it here as much as possible?"

"Oh, we certainly will, professor."

"Very well. I shouldn't have to remind you that tomorrow is a school day. I trust that is all that needs saying?"

"Yes, Professor," Hermione replied wearily. She'd been saying the same exact thing for the past two hours. By one o'clock, the Common Room was nearly empty, save for Connor, Natalie, Neville, Lavender, and Vicky. Harry had to take a calming draught to sleep, but fortunately Neville had become quite good at them.

The day after the Quidditch match, Hagrid pulled Harry aside during breakfast in the Great Hall.

"If ya wouldn't mind stoppin' by me cottage, I've got somethin' fer ya, n' it's late for sure, but better late than never, I always say. Just stop on by after yer classes today."

"Sure, Hagrid, but you really don't have to…"

"I know," Hagrid said, "but I want to, an' that should be enough." Hagrid slapped Harry on the back, which almost knocked him over. Harry, who'd just had the wind knocked out of him and couldn't speak, smiled, nodded, and turned to go, but Hagrid called out to him. "Oh, and bring Hermione, Dean Thomas and that American bloke with ya, too!"

"I'll do that, Hagrid," Harry managed to wheeze.

After yesterday's Quidditch match and today's invitation from Hagrid, Harry couldn't concentrate on his classes the rest of the day, and took what were probably his shoddiest notes all year. It was a good thing that Hermione was in Temporalism, that he didn't have Potions, and that his last class of the day was Muggle Studies. Even then, Hermione scolded him for not paying more attention and Parvati Patil jabbed him twice when the professor caught him daydreaming. Harry meant what he said; Hagrid didn't have to give him anything, as much as he'd already done. That didn't mean Harry wasn't very curious – as excited as Hagrid was and as long as he'd been working on it, Harry couldn't help but be cautiously eager to see what his friend had. As soon as his last class was over, he sprinted back to the Gryffindor Common Room, which was still covered in scarlet and gold banners. He dashed up to his dormitory and threw his books on his bed. He still had to wait for Hermione, Dean, and Connor, and the suspense was killing him, so, purely for something to do, he changed into his casual robes.

"Grab your boots, Harry!" Harry looked up to see Connor standing before his bed. He nudged Harry's dragon-hide boots with his own, which were a similar style, but in plain leather. Harry sighed and pulled them on. Although he'd had them since his birthday, he'd never actually tried them on until today, and when he stood up, he found that they automatically fit themselves to his feet without him having to buckle either of the two buckles. They were pleasantly light, and not in the least clumsy. Harry imagined when he got them that they'd be stiff and hard to walk in, hot and uncomfortable. He couldn't have been more wrong. The heels would take some getting used to, though.

"Hey! Are we going, or what?" Dean sounded downright impatient, and they sped down the stairs, through the commons, through the painting, and through the halls of Hogwarts. They were puffing when they arrived at Hagrid's hut, and on top of that Hermione was already waiting for them.

"Hello, Harry!" Hagrid boomed. "I'm glad you made it!"

"I wouldn't miss it for the world, Hagrid."

"Now, Harry," Hermione started, before Dean shushed her.

"Stop it Hermione! Can't you let things be for ten minutes? Lecture him later!" This only made Harry more anxious. Hagrid placed a hand the size of a ham on his shoulder and guided him around the corner of the hut.

"Well then, no reason to put it off, is there?" They shuffled into the yard behind the cottage, where something stood covered with a drop cloth. The sheet was oil-stained and filthy; it looked like it had spent some quality time with Connor's robes. Dean, Hermione, Harry, and Hagrid stood before the delayed birthday present, until finally Hagrid took a handful of greasy material and gave it a yank.

What Harry saw took his breath away. The late fall sun glinted from the polished chrome and glossy shine of the Gryffindor scarlet tank on the motorcycle that stood before him. The sweeping straight exhaust pipes twinkled in the sunlight, and the spotless leather seat had been deeply polished. _"TRIUMPH!"_ – the chrome badge on the petrol tank proudly proclaimed. "_Bonneville"_ was on another, smaller, black tank under the seat. The frame was black, and the straight handlebars made it look sporty and aggressive. It practically dared him to hop on and go for a ride, even though he knew absolutely nothing about motorcycles, and very likely would have ended up crashing into something, had he tried.

"Is that…?"

"Go ahead then," Hagrid said, nodding happily and gesturing at the motorcycle. Harry hesitantly straddled the seat and sat gingerly, pushing it up from the kickstand and attempting to balance it upright. It was heavy, and he could feel the muscles on the insides of his thighs straining to keep it in position. He had some vague ideas of what to do from watching Muggle television; he knew that twisting the right hand grip would make it go, and he'd used handbrakes during his brief rides on Dudley's racing bike, but other than that, he was pretty much lost. He wasn't even sure how to turn it on.

"I meant ta' get it to ya sooner, but it wasn't running all that well, and, well, my hands aren't made ta' handle such little bits!" Hagrid held out his gigantic paws. "I did my best, but if Connor wouldn't have seen me working it on one morning, you might have had to wait another six months! Him and Dean did the mechanical things, and Hermione cleaned n' polished everything until it was as good as new…better, maybe, with the permanent lubrication charms and so forth!"

"Does it run? Can we drive it?" he said, looking at Connor and Dean.

"Oh, it runs like a top," Connor said. "We made sure of that." He glanced at Dean, who waved him forward.

"You did most of the work, mate. Pleasure's yours. If you call it a pleasure! For all you know, Harry could run you both straight into the lake! Oh, and Harry, you don't _drive_ a motorcycle, you _ride_ it. Just don't ride it into the Whomping Willow!"

"Yes, well, we'll hope that doesn't happen," Connor said dryly, stepping forward. "What do you say, Harry? Want to ride behind or steer?"

"Ride," Harry said immediately, letting the bike sit back on its kickstand and stepping awkwardly off. "I…I don't really know what to do."

"Now, Harry," Hermione started, "There really aren't any rules about flying motorbikes, but I can't imagine it's allowed, strictly speaking! I mean - you don't even have your operator's license, do you?"

"Bah!" Hagrid exclaimed. "A little fun now and again won't kill 'im! Then again, it wouldn't do much for anyone if it did. So maybe ye want ter be a bit careful?"

"But what about the rules-" Hermione protested.

"Hermione," Harry said, "I've said it before and I'll say it again. _To hell with the rules_."

"Now that's the Harry we know and love," Dean quipped.

"I'll take good care of him," Connor said, patiently. "We can't have him living in fear of getting a little scratch, he'll go neurotic."

"That doesn't make me feel any better about it, and it's not a 'little scratch' we're talking about." Hermione pouted. Dean posed a question.

"Think of it this way, have you ever been able to keep him from breaking the rules before?"

"Well, no, but I could get it taken away…"

"You wouldn't!" Dean said. "Not after you just spent two months helping to get it running and cleaned up. You had to know he'd want to ride it! Did you think he'd just sit and look at it being sparkly?"

"Well, I'd hoped-"

"Hoped but not expected! Right?"

"Well…right," Hermione was forced to admit, "but you had better be very, very careful. If something happens, I'll hold you personally responsible…and that thing is a rolling accident just waiting to happen!"

"So," Dean continued, "If he'll do it anyway, then the best possible situation would be that he'd do it under _your supervision_, right?"

"That is just not fair, Dean."

"Relax already! I'll take you out on it, once I get the hang of it!"

"I would like to see you try to get me on that…on that _deathtrap_!" Even though she sounded serious, Harry thought he could see the tiniest of smiles.

"Right then," Harry said, turning back to Connor.

"Oh, are we done discussing?" Connor feigned ignorance.

"Don't be a brat," Hermione chided. Harry looked to Connor.

"So, let's go, shall we?"

"Certainly, only you'd better lose the robe. Long clothes, moving wheels, and chains don't mix, mate."

The word 'mate' coming from Connor was amusing, and Harry laughed as he stripped off his robe. He had a long-sleeved shirt on under it, fortunately, because the warm day wasn't exactly shirtsleeves and shorts weather.

"Alright then. There's not much to it," Connor said, straddling the bike easily. He reached under the seat and toyed with something. "You turn on the gas. Then you 'tickle' it…" He tapped tiny levers on either side of the bike. "Then you give it a kick." He flipped the kick-starter peg out and jammed it down, and the Triumph snarled to life. The feelings flooding through Harry as his Godfather's bike sat tamely beneath him, waiting to be unleashed, were indescribable; riding a broom didn't feel a thing like this!

"Hold on!" Connor shouted over the engine. "Just watch what I do! Clutch…" he squeezed his left hand. "Then kick it into gear!" He tapped the shifter with his right foot. "Shift on the right," Connor waggled his right leg, and then his left. "Here's the break, and here's the throttle!" He twisted the grip in his right hand slightly, and the engine revved. "Let off the clutch slowly." Connor relaxed his left hand, and the bike started to roll forward. Harry lifted his feet, and Connor looked back as he felt Harry shift his weight. "Those pegs are for your feet. Kick them down, because the pipes get hot. Better hold on, too!" Harry gingerly knocked the foot pegs down, and grabbed Connor's shirt. Connor leaned back slightly. "You'll want to hold on tight. Better a joke or two than a serious headache, which is what you'll get if we hit a good bump and you're not hanging on to anything but my stylish threads!" Harry leaned forward, wrapping his arms around Connor. His un-ease vanished almost immediately as he realized that even though it was slightly awkward, it gave him a better view of what Connor was doing to run the motorbike. Also, they were going a good deal faster now, and he wanted to be holding onto something a little more substantial. The wind was starting to whip around them, and Connor's hair was blowing straight back into Harry's face. He hunched down a little, and held on tighter. Although it made him slightly uncomfortable to think about it, he realized that the American was probably even stronger than he'd previously guessed. Harry could feel the muscles in Connor's stomach and chest flex beneath his arms as he guided the bike and leaned forward. They had shifted gears at least once, and now they were really moving along the dirt path. The occasional student would gape at them as they rocketed by; undoubtedly a sight few wizards or witches ever saw.

Harry was reminded of a dream he'd once had of a flying motorcycle…could this have actually been it? His uncle had nearly beaten him at the very mention of the dream, and Harry imagined the exchange between him and his uncle when he asked to test for his operator's license. Perhaps the motorcycle was best left a secret. Maybe Mister Weasley could help him put an invisibility booster on it, like the one that had been on the old car that he and Ron had taken to Hogwarts in his second year. Then he could fly it without being bothered by anyone.

"I don't dare go much faster," Connor shouted, for now the wind was so loud that Harry wouldn't be able to hear anything else. "Just a little bump or rock could be pretty nasty at this speed! We should really have helmets, or a helmet charm, or something!"

"Does it fly?" Harry shouted back.

"Sure, but are you ready for that?" Harry considered it. He loved flying a broom, but this was nothing like that. His Firebolt was fine and precise – almost delicate in comparison to the Triumph, which had a thrill to it that suggested it was decidedly less than safe. However, Harry had ridden two racing brooms that were capable of absolutely ridiculous speeds, a hippogriff, a thestral, and even a Ford Angila into the skies, and he couldn't imagine this being too much worse.

"Take it up!" Connor nodded without looking back and nudged something with his right toe. Suddenly, the bike was airborne, rising above the Hogwarts grounds. The sensation didn't change much; they still felt as if they were on a relatively smooth road, but Connor shifted it one last time, and they accelerated even more.

"How fast will it go?" Harry shouted.

"On the ground? A good hundred ten. In the air, maybe hundred and fifteen. I wouldn't try for more than that, even though you might get it."

If they hadn't been doing seventy miles per hour by then, Harry might have whistled. The Dursleys had never shown any kind of interest in letting Harry learn about driving, but he knew enough to know that was faster than he'd ever need to go on the ground. He also knew that he was old enough to get a Muggle Driver's license, and he'd just gotten one very good reason to do it.

They circled the grounds a few times, and Harry caught sight of several people he knew. Parvati and Lavender peered up at him as he shot by the grounds outside the Gryffindor tower, and Susan Bones and Neville Longbottom were both standing by the greenhouses as they flew over. Connor slowed down gradually until he touched down smoothly right in front of Hagrid's hut. They dismounted, and Hagrid easily wheeled the bike around behind his hut.

"Are you sure you want to give me this, Hagrid? I mean, Sirius gave it to you!"

"He mostly gave it ta me for safe keeping and ta get me where I had ta go…I'm sure he'd have wanted you ta end up with it."

"But won't you miss it?"

"Oh, I will at times…but I think yer Sirius mostly had it for the girls, and no ladies I know would be impressed by a flying motorbike…leastwise none that I'm worried about." Hagrid's ruddy cheeks darkened noticeably beneath his grizzly beard.

"I think it's dreadful!" Hermione added, unnecessarily.

"Of course you would," Dean sniped, "it might be fun."

After another few hours at Hagrid's, Harry and his friends started to make their way back to the castle. Hermione was going on to Dean about all of the safety issues involved, and Dean was wisely remaining respectfully silent. Connor sidled next to Harry as they walked, answering the never-ending stream of questions. During a lull, the American took a deep breath, as if he was getting ready to say something he didn't really want to say.

"I meant to ask you for a favor."

"After this, anything!"

"Well, you see, there's another bike, not as good as this one, but your Godfather used it for parts. It's mostly there, and after we – that is – after Dean and Hermione and I repaired this, we looked to that. I was wondering if you would allow me and Dean to fix it up and ride it around a little." Connor shifted nervously from foot to foot, and Harry later remembered that had been the first time he'd ever seen the tall American look nervous. "If you'd rather not that's-"

"There was another one?" Harry said, still in a daze.

"Well, yea. Your Godfather was decent enough with a wrench, but it looks like he had to swap some of the parts out that he couldn't fix. I managed to rebuild the original carburetors for your bike and repair most of the rest of the parts that had been exchanged. The bike he used for parts is still a ways from running…it needs the carbs rebuilt and re-synced and a new head gasket, maybe a new head. The fuel line's got to be re-run all the way from the tank to the carbs. It needs a new battery, new plugs, new plug wires, the varnish cleaned out of it, and maybe some other stuff that I don't know about…" Harry cut Connor off with a feeble wave and a nod.

"Of course you can, uh, do whatever you want to it. Perhaps if you get it going, we can ride together, since no self-respecting broom will let you near it." Connor smiled and looked visibly relieved. A day ago, Harry had forgotten all about Sirius's motorcycle, and now it had been given to him in better-than-new condition, along with two people to teach him how to ride it. There was no reason for him to deny something he'd never even miss to the friends who had made it all possible.


	12. Chapter 12 A Most IllFated Flight

Chapter 12 – A Most Ill-Fated Flight

**Chapter 12 – A Most Ill-Fated Flight**

One of the best things about the day after a Quidditch match was the lack of any practice. Harry was very happy with the way their match had turned out, but after the last few months of very difficult afternoons filled with red and gold numbers and monotonous formations, he was also very happy to have a day off. He spent the rest of the evening relaxing and trying Connor's patience with questions about his new motorcycle.

"Is my bike big? Is it fast?" Harry absentmindedly sketched a small version of it in the margin of his Defense against the Dark Arts book. Connor looked up from his own book.

"Uh, well, yeah…it's good sized, for a Brit its age."

"I still can't believe you didn't tell me about this. Some friends you are!" Ron muttered, leaning forward to look at Harry's doodling. He tapped it with his wand and the motorbike shot off across the page. He'd heard about it from Dean and Connor, who had made him promise not to tell anyone to whom it belonged, and had been sulking about not being in on the whole affair from the beginning. He wasn't so miffed that he didn't want anything to do with it, however; insisting that Harry take him for a ride on Saturday, if the weather permitted. Harry nodded, following the miniature bike around the page with his eyes. _He_ wouldn't be giving Ron a ride anywhere. His friend would have to settle for Connor or Dean, but there was no reason to tell Ron that.

"So," Hermione asked casually, trying to steer the subject away from motorcycles for a while, "where do wizards hide from Muggles in America?"

"I take it you've never been to Los Angeles," Connor replied, nonchalantly twirling his wand.

"No," she replied.

"Why should that matter?" Ron asked.

"We just walk around. One more freak in a robe…" He shrugged. "Of course a lot of us there don't wear robes. We stick to Muggle clothes." He tugged on his robes. "This actually takes some getting used to."

"It must be nice to be able to walk among them without having to wear a disguise," said Dean, who was sprawled on one of the sofas nearby. "I know it takes me a few days to get used to switching every time we go on holiday or come back from one." Connor managed to look amused and homesick at the same time.

"Out there, you fit in a little better if you're abnormal. That's not to say _I_ act out in public, but there's plenty that do. I for one believe you haven't lived until you've seen a man in wizarding robes with a beard like Dumbledore's, waving his wand around and roller-blading by the ocean, down in Santa Monica."

"They really do that?" Hermione was dumbfounded.

"What's a 'roller blade'?" Ron asked.

Ron's mood did not improve as the weather Saturday took a turn for the worse. It didn't snow, and the sun actually shone quite brightly all day, but the temperature remained arctic. This suited Harry's mood perfectly. His enthusiasm for the motorcycle had been temporarily and suddenly quashed as he sat in the commons, gazing at Hermione, who was deeply involved in her Arithmancy homework and oblivious to everything around her. Neville and Connor were off someplace working on a new potion, and Ron was on his Prefect's rounds. There were plenty of students loitering about the common room, and for a while Natalie McDonald and he had a decent conversation about racing brooms, and exactly what sort of modifications she had done, but eventually she left to search for Connor, who she'd been hanging around quite a bit lately. After she left, he did some new Occlumency exercises in a mostly-futile attempt to clear his mind. It did help a little; at some point in the evening he fell asleep on the couch nearest the softly crackling fire.

A shuffling noise later dragged him from his dreamless sleep, and he glanced groggily at his watch. It was 2:40 in the morning and Parvati Patil was sneaking through the Common room to the stairs that led to the sixth-year girls' dormitory. She glanced back quickly, just as she reached the door to the winding stairs that led up to the girls' dormitory, and noticed Harry was watching her. She paused and looked at him more carefully. "Are you…feeling alright?"

"Yeah, I…eh. Never mind. I'm okay."

"You don't look okay."

"I thought that's not the sort of thing you were supposed to say to somebody."

"That's not the sort of thing boys say to girls, Harry. Girls are allowed to say it to boys."

"That's a bit of a double standard, don't you think?" Harry asked. Parvati shrugged and grinned impishly.

"Deep down, all boys want to be babied by girls." That made Harry chuckle, which made Parvati grin wider, which made Harry's heart do a minor tuck and roll on him.

"I've just got some things on my mind, that's all."

"You know," she said, sitting on the arm of the chair, "I know I'm not your friend or anything, but if you ever want to talk to me you can. It's not like I _hate_ you or anything."

"I don't know if I want to talk about it, er, with anyone, really. No offense or anything. I just don't know where to start, or stop, or what to say."

"How about you talk about whatever you want, until you don't feel like talking, and I won't push you. I promise."

Harry thought about it for a moment. Other than the time at the Yule ball in his fourth year, he and Parvati really didn't have any kind of relationship. It was very tempting to have someone to talk to about his problem with Hermione, except for the fact that this was Parvati, and between her and Lavender, every bit of gossip in the school had to pass through one of them before it was official. "And you'll keep it, you know…"

"Between me and you? _Of course_ I will."

"Not even Lavender?" Harry asked.

"_Especially_ not Lavender," Parvati said quietly, glancing back at the archway that lead to their dorms. "I love her but I know any secrets about you would be too much to expect her to keep."

"Why is that?" he asked. "What makes me so special?"

"I don't know. You've got something about you. Mystery. A feeling."

"A feeling like I'm a nutter?"

"Well..." she was too polite to acknowledge it directly. "I don't think anyone who knows you really believes that. Or most of us, anyway. You just have this…aura?"

"More Divination?"

"No! A kind of…attraction really." Parvati paused, and Harry thought that she may be blushing, though her darker skin and the lack of decent light made it harder for him to tell. "Kind of like when there's something that you know is really dangerous, let's say, but that just makes it that much more desirable. Like that flying motorbike Connor has. When I saw you on it the other day, part of me knew it would be suicide to ride it, but part of me really wanted to try."

This was something Harry didn't understand. He didn't particularly like danger, even if he did thrive in it, and dangerous girls had never appealed to him either. Except there was Natalie, and even though he was nothing more than friends with her, part of him really envied the way she flew, taking chances and risks that no sane person would dare take. That part of her was pretty attractive, wasn't it? And there was Connor, who certainly seemed dangerous…many of the girls in Gryffindor practically fawned over him. He decided to keep the fact that it was _his_ motorbike to himself.

"So, you're saying that you want to date dangerous guys?"

"Well, a little, yes. Dangerous guys are the ones you date, you know? The sweet ones are the ones you marry. By the way, that bit about the prophecy was pure genius. Lavender's almost ready to explode."

"Ah. So that explains it…you want to be in danger. Well I have it all figured out now! I know a basilisk we could visit, if you'd like."

Parvati laughed and Harry's heart kicked one of his ribs and threatened to escape his chest entirely.

"That may be a little too dangerous, and I'm…I'm not a big fan of snakes. You just have to give us a hint, you know? You're quite good at that naturally. Keep the big snakes for the ones you _really_ like." She winked, and Harry relaxed a little. He'd never really talked much to Parvati, or any girls other than Hermione and Ginny, and at times, Luna. It was a nice feeling.

"So…any more news on the prophesy?"

"I can't tell you that," Harry said. "It's too dangerous." He figured that she had been fishing for something more about it earlier, and so he had intentionally let it slide. She laughed and then regained her composure.

"So," she said, looking down at him with her sea-green eyes, "anything on your mind?" Harry took a deep breath.

"Well, you see, it's about Hermione…"

Nearly twenty minutes later, Harry stopped talking. He was emotionally drained now, and even though he felt exhausted, it felt good to get things out of his system. Hermione and Ron were who he'd normally talk to about such things, and obviously he couldn't involve them. Maybe Parvati had been right when she suggested he tell her. He gazed at her, trying to weigh her expression.

"So this…is all about a _girl_?" She seemed stupefied.

"Er…yeah," Harry replied. He felt a flash of anger. "Is there something wrong with that?"

"No!" Parvati exclaimed. "It's just that, well, I thought it would be about…" She leaned very close and whispered, "…You-Know-Who. That'd have been something I wouldn't have been able to do much about. Girl problems I can help you with!"

"You…how?"

"Well, think about it, Hermione is your best friend, right?"

"Yeah."

"And Ron is your best friend, right?"

"Er…yeah?"

"So your best friends are dating each other. Don't you want them to be happy?"

"What kind of question is that? Of course I want them to be happy!"

"So," Parvati continued, ignoring Harry's outburst, "if Ron makes Hermione happy, and if Hermione makes Ron happy, then you should want them to be together, right?"

"That sounds reasonable, but somehow I don't."

"Well, that's normal, but if you really want her to be happy, you should want her and Ron together, unless you can think of some reason they shouldn't be." Harry couldn't, other than his own feelings for her, and he said so.

"If it makes you feel any better, it's nothing serious."

"What do you mean, 'nothing serious'? They're holding hands and snogging, for crying out loud!"

"Do you _really_ think Hermione would dedicate herself to something other than schoolwork?" Seeing the look on Harry's

face, she added, "Or traipsing after you and Ron around the castle after curfew?"

"Well…why bother then?"

"Why bother? Because it's nice to be wanted, Harry. They enjoy spending time around each other. I assume the snogging feels alright. Not everything has to be some life-altering, permanent development, does it?"

Harry never really thought about a girlfriend as someone to hang out with and talk; he'd always considered it something much more serious. He felt that he might just be able to cope with girls, if there was a little less tension involved.

"I never thought of that, I guess; I'm under a little pressure right now, you know."

"So I've heard," Parvati replied. "Well, what do you look for in a girl? Maybe I can set you up."

"I don't really know," Harry said. "Pretty I guess. And smart. And someone who can stand to be alone sometimes. I think Cho was too..." Harry made a grasping motion.

"Clingy?"

"Exactly! _Clingy_. She made you feel like she absolutely needed you…I've got enough of that as it is."

"Fair enough," Parvati said. "I'll keep my eyes open for a beautiful, intelligent, non-clingy woman."

"What's going on here?" Both Harry and Parvati jumped at the sound of Hermione's voice echoing harshly through the common room.

"Oh, we're just chatting," Parvati said casually, glancing at Harry. Hermione seemed unimpressed.

"Well, it is _very late_; perhaps you should save it for some other time, hmm?" She didn't even look at Harry when she said this, and Parvati shrunk back, the smile on her face faltering for a moment.

"Then I suppose I should go to bed. Good night, Harry."

"Ah, good night, Parvati," he said with some confusion. What was Hermione's issue, anyway? After she left, Hermione turned on Harry.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"We're just talking, Hermione! What's the prob-"

"What's the problem?" she hissed menacingly, "oh, I'll tell you the problem. You're talking to _Parvati Patil_! Have some common sense! The first really juicy bit of gossip she gets will be all over the school before you even wake up!"

"I don't think she'll do that," Harry complained hopefully.

"Yes, well; we'll see, won't we? You'd better get to bed as well; you have Quidditch practice in the morning."

"I know, I know. I'm going."

As she left the room a voice in Harry's head was scolding him; one that sounded remarkably like Snape. _"Nothing like providing another target for the Dark Lord, eh Potter? Not good enough that you have to endanger everyone around you…now you want to go and draw in some more innocents. Where will you be when they end up-"_ Harry ended the thought so abruptly it surprised him. Perhaps the Occlumency was paying off after all.

All through the weekend, and into Monday, Harry found himself listless. Even though he'd not gotten a chance to ride the Triumph, Ron was nearly back to normal. It helped that he'd seen Draco and the Slytherin keeper arguing loudly over how many goals they'd allowed Gryffindor to score, versus how many Ron had allowed.

"It must really boil Malfoy's blood to have to admit that I'm the better Keeper. You've got to wonder how he can live with himself, knowing I beat them. He must just deny it and call it dumb luck or something."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, half-heartedly. Ron took a long hard look at him, but didn't say anything. Later, in Transfiguration, Harry turned Ron's eyes a hideous shade of orange, and couldn't get it undone. Professor McGonagall was less than amused, and they were lucky to escape without losing house points. In Temporalism, he didn't answer a single question, prompting Professor Walken to ask him if he was ill. In Muggle Studies, Parvati garnered a detention, because she kept telling Harry jokes in an attempt to cheer him up. That just depressed him even more.

Harry's depression continued through the week, causing him to become more and more distant, until finally Ron pulled him aside at the beginners' D.A. meeting on Wednesday night.

"Look, mate, what's going on?"

"Sorry?" Harry said with a start.

"What's wrong with you? You haven't said five words all night, and barely more than that since the weekend."

"I don't know," Harry muttered. "I've just got things on my mind, I guess."

"Well, pull yourself together." His friend flipped his wand at the D.A. students, who were preparing themselves for their first attempt at full body binds in earnest. "_They_ need you."

"Why?"

"What do you mean, _why_? This was _your_ idea! You could be the only thing standing between them and…You-Know-Who." Harry, who had been pacing in front of the group nervously, stopped so fast that Ron bumped into him.

"Who says I want to be?" Harry hissed quietly. "Let's be honest here Ron; do you really think anyone here would walk away from an encounter with Voldemort -- regardless of what you or I or anyone else shows them?" Ron actually seemed to consider that for a while.

"You have," he finally answered. Harry's eyes narrowed behind his round spectacles.

"Because I'm lucky

and he's an arrogant git who likes to talk about himself a little too much."

"What about the Ministry?"

"Oh, yeah." Harry threw his hands in the air. "That was a bit of bloody genius, wasn't it _Ronald_? I let Lord Voldemort trick me into running right into his hands, and top it off by getting my Godfather killed…_and_ I almost got you, Hermione, Ginny, Neville, and Luna killed!"

"But you didn't, and here we are. And now we're pulled into this, whether we like it or not!" Ron was beginning to grow louder as well, and some of the D.A. students were looking around curiously, probably wondering if a fight was brewing. Ron glanced once at the crowd and grabbed Harry's arm, dragging him from the classroom.

"Look, Harry, I don't like this any more than you do, but we're all involved in this now. You _owe_ it to them to make them as ready as you can. No one blames you for anything!"

"Well, they should!" Harry yelled. "They ought to be blaming me for nearly everything because it _is_ my fault. _I_ dragged us there…_I_ got you all hurt…_I _got Sirius killed…and Diggory, while we're at it, and even _my parents_. Your father was almost killed because Voldemort was looking for _my_ prophesy. Sometimes I think things would have been better if I hadn't even been born!" This time, Ron didn't bother with an answer. Instead, he very deliberately cuffed Harry alongside the head.

"_Listen to yourself!_" he whispered. Harry realized that he had stepped over the line of reason, and struggled to regain control of his flaring temper. Last year, perhaps, he'd have stayed angry because it was either that or admit that he was wrong. This year, he'd found it a little easier just to let things go. Besides; it was much harder to stay angry.

"Ron, everyone I care for gets hurt, and _I can't stop it._ It's killing me! What if it's Hermione next? What if it's you?" Harry was very close to breaking into tears now, and perhaps Ron could tell, because he put his arm around his friend and spoke very quietly.

"There's already a chance that it will be one of us. I mean, Hermione is Muggle-born, and you know how people like Malfoy feel about _me, _but out of all the people I know, the only ones who've faced him and walked away are Dumbledore and you, and I know that because of you, I lived through a fight with a bunch of fully grown Death Eaters, and so did Hermione, and a bunch of other people who did it because they cared for you. Maybe we can't get someone in here who can show is how it should 'really be done.' Maybe that person doesn't even exist, but out of all the people in this castle who deserve to have people listen to them, you're the only one I really trust."

For the first time in several days, Harry Potter smiled. Ron grinned back and slapped his friend on the back. He gave Harry a moment to compose himself, and then they stepped back into the Room of Requirement.

"Alright, then. Who's ready to take on Harry and me?" Three or four brave souls eagerly raised their hands, and the rest looked on with expressions of anxiety and hope, feeling that perhaps there really was a cause for high spirits.

That Friday, Harry was sitting at the Gryffindor table in the Great hall, sulking and feeling sorry for himself. He was no longer in the deep depression that he'd slumped into the previous weekend, but he did have things on his chest. For one; it was bad enough that he had what he now admitted to himself was an unrequited crush on one of his best friends, and that same best friend was rude to the only person trying to help him through it. Even worse, everyone around him seemed to be girl-crazy as well: Dean and Ginny displayed a disturbing tendency to vanish at the same time, Ron and Hermione argued more than ever, Seamus was still enamored with the mystery witch, Connor had legions of young witches batting their eyes and blushing in his general direction, and lately, an alarming number of witches were inquiring over the whereabouts of Neville Longbottom.

Harry looked for Neville, and finally found him deep within a throng of fifth and sixth-year witches, sitting next to Lavender Brown, who was leaning heavily against him and whispering in his ear. The blush on Neville's face said volumes.

Next to him, Ron was piling food on his plate as if he'd never eat again, and further down, Dean and Connor were sitting next to each other with Ginny and Natalie on either side of them. They looked to be making a joke at Connor's expense, because he was looking at his plate and shaking his head, and everyone else was laughing.

Harry couldn't help but feel a little better around all the good emotions, and by the end of dinner, he was even joking with Ron about the girls who fancied him. Harry had been keeping his eyes open to that sort of thing, but had discovered to his dismay that he was basically no good at figuring out who was flirting with him, or what indeed constituted flirting in the first place. Parvati and Katie were trying to give him pointers, but everything they said came out ambiguously.

"Well, do a lot of girls smile at you?" Katie asked one day over supper. "Because that could be flirting, you know; if they smile at you a lot."

"That's right," Parvati added, "and you shouldn't be afraid to smile at them, either. Women like it when you smile."

"Well, they do, sometimes, if I look at them a while."

"_If you look at them a while?_" Parvati exclaimed. "Harry, you're flirting when you do that! They may just be returning the flirt."

"Well how the bloody hell am I supposed to figure this out? Watch!" Susan Bones was walking by and Harry spun on her, smiling wildly. She paused with a jump, and then smiled back with a very confused look on her face, looking to Katie and Parvati for an explanation.

"It's okay Suse," Parvati said, "he's touched in the head…just ignore him."

"Hey! I'm not touched!" Susan continued past Harry, giving him a wide berth and peeking back at him over her shoulder. As she turned away, Harry felt that the last smile looked genuine enough.

"There," he said triumphantly. "How about that?"

"Listen, Harry," Katie said, forcing his head around until he was looking into her wide, bright eyes, "you can't go scaring girls like that. _That's_ not flirting! That's frightening!" Parvati was giggling and Ron had to be helped with his food, which had mysteriously grown heavier as he gasped for breath.

"Oh, you would think it's funny!" Harry muttered to his wheezing friend. "Anyway, what did I do wrong?" Connor, who'd hopped up and headed Harry's way when he saw Susan pass, voiced his opinion first.

"Harry, my boy, sad experience has taught me that pouncing on them tends to frighten them away. You've got to be gentle, like this…" he trailed a long, strong finger over Katie's cheek and down her neck, and she shuddered with her eyes half closed in spite of herself.

"Okay, that's enough of that, thanks, Connor. Now back to your seat with you." Connor turned and Harry just caught a glimpse of the spell that hit the American square in the chest. Further down the table, Natalie MacDonald was leaning into the aisle with her wand in her hand.

"Woman!" Connor raised his wand menacingly and drew a long diagonal line in front of him, conjuring a flock of very tiny, but very colorful butterflies. With a flick, he sent them after Natalie, who leapt up shrieking and fled to the far end of the table. From there, nothing short of chaos ensued. Students from every house roared with laughter, sides were chosen, generally breaking down into the boys versus the girls, and streams of sparks, mist, and flying insects filled the great hall. Harry wasn't sure when things degenerated into a full-blown food fight, or who exactly had hit him squarely in the face with the custard pie, but there was one thing of which he was certain:

His flirting skills left something to be desired.

"Oi, Neville! What's that?" Dean yelled across the common room, eyeing the package that Neville was fingering. He'd had it since lunch but had just now sat down to open it.

"It's my obsidian! It's for a potion I'm working on."

"I still can't believe you wanted _into_ potions!" Seamus muttered. "Why, I remember thinking when I was taking my O.W.L.s that I never wanted to fail a test so bad in my life!"

"Well," Lavender said, "I for one am _quite _pleased that he's still in it. He's a genius, if you ask me!" Lavender gazed Neville's way and batted her eyelashes furiously, causing him to blush deeply and drop the heavy envelope that he'd been toying with all day. Connor, who was still wet from the shower and covered in welts from the stinging curses he'd been subjected to, snagged it before it hit the ground.

"That's right," Emmer added. "Neville's been quite good to us, and I for one am glad he's here." A chorus of feminine voices chimed in their agreement. Dean's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Neville, _darling_, what have you been doing for our fair witches of Hogwarts?"

"That's none of your business," Vicky Frobisher said, "but he's quite the lifesaver to us women, aren't you Neville?"

"It's nothing, really, anyone could do it!"

"Maybe anyone could," a dark-haired fourth-year said, "but you're the one that did." She kissed Neville firmly on the cheek, and several other Gryffindor girls actually stood in line for the chance to kiss Neville Longbottom. Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil planted kisses that smacked and left lip-shaped badges on his cheeks. The boys were stunned, and when Ron stepped through the portrait-hole, no one could blame him for being shocked and confused.

"Neville? What the bloody hell?"

"Just let it go, Ron," Harry shook his head. "It isn't even worth knowing."

Harry was up early the next morning for Quidditch practice. He barely had a chance to eat, and got no more than a glance at the _Daily Prophet._ He was looking for signs of Voldemort this year as keenly as he could, but when the best thing the _Prophet_ could produce was the Minister of Magic coming down with a bout of influenza, he could be relatively assured that the dark wizard was still lying low. A quick scan through the rest of the paper confirmed his suspicions; several more cases of the grippe and a few editorials praising the Minister for his "speedy and honest" response to Voldemort's return. Harry snorted and threw the paper on the table, stuffing down the last of his meager breakfast and heading to the Quidditch Pitch.

They had changed a number of things after their match with Slytherin, and Katie was merciless when it came to mastering the Red and Gold calls, which had worked well for them. Ginny's Cleansweep 11 had finally come, and the Chaser Corps was now faster than ever. The Creevey brothers were on a strict morning running regiment, which Ginny had cajoled from Connor on one of their morning runs. One of the problems they'd run into with the Slytherin game was that no one had taken into account how much harder the smaller, faster beaters had to work. By the end of the game, they were both exhausted, and Katie wasn't about to let that happen again.

During the practice immediately following their match, Katie had produced double weight Beater's bats and slightly faster and heavier Bludgers. She demanded that Colin and Dennis use them from then on out. They took it well, never once complaining, and Jack and Andrew both played every practice with strict instructions to be especially hard and vicious every chance they got.

The Chasers weren't off the hook, either. Katie had been very satisfied with their production against Slytherin, but she wanted Seamus and Emmer on the pitch more and she wanted them better prepared for the Gold plays, now that the entire school had seen a good many of their Red formations. They practiced endlessly on their formation placement and passing.

Though she never said so in so many words, Harry was certain that Katie was privately very pleased with Ron's performance. Ron's numbers for the match were quite acceptable; even though he wasn't the best keeper ever. He was far from the worst. Katie let him off fairly easily, leaving whichever two chasers were currently on reserve to continuously attempt to score on him in between shots from the three that were doing formation plays.

Harry, of course, really didn't have much of a strategy to follow, owing to the instinctive nature of his position. Katie would occasionally send Natalie to follow him so she could learn the ropes of being a seeker, but other than that, Harry was generally free to do as he wished. This morning he would be flying with Natalie, and Katie had come up with a fairly ingenious idea.

"This," she said, tossing a bright orange ball from one hand to the other, "is a standard Snitch, minus most of the magical protections against enchantments. As you can see, I've painted it a beautiful shade of orange." Harry smiled and reached for it, and Katie snapped her hand back. "I've also added a special enchantment of my own, which you'll see as soon as it takes to the air. I want both of you paying special attention to any patterns in its flight. There aren't supposed to be any, but who knows? Stranger things have happened." She flicked the Snitch into the sky, where it spread its wings and dashed away. Harry didn't have too hard a time tracking it, owing to the fact that it was devastatingly orange, but even if he had, the trail of smoke that it shortly began to belch forth trailed across the sky and made its progress self-evident.

By the end of the practice, the smoke had also proven that the Snitch had no discernable pattern, or least of all, none that could be determined in three hours of flight. Still, Harry felt that it was probably a productive practice for Natalie, who was easily a good enough flyer to be the house Seeker, but still had problems picking up the tiny golden orb. Seeing how they moved was certainly beneficial to anyone foolish enough to entertain thoughts of capturing one of the deviously clever little spheres.

After practice, Harry decided on a quick flight over the Hogwarts grounds. It was another uncommonly warm day, at least for winter, and he hated to waste it. He'd already covered the grounds near the Forbidden Forest, and was swooping over the newly frozen lake, when he glanced to his right, where Professor Walken and the mystery witch were standing and watching him. He cranked his head to get a closer look, raised a hand in a wave, and briefly considered looping around to get another look at them, but the moment he looked forward, he slammed into something large and feathery. His head rocked back and his left hand slipped from the broom handle, but he managed to stay mounted. His body instinctively dropped in a racing position to stay closer to the broom, which decided that this was the cue to go faster. Harry pulled up hard on the handle, but it was cold and slick and his left hand slipped from the polished shaft, causing him to yank it backwards far further than he intended in an effort to hang on, and he shot nearly straight up into the sky. He lurched forward over the handle, his mittens grasping madly at the superbly smooth, diamond-hard finish of the Firebolt. His mind raced – he was way too far forward on his broom, his glasses had been knocked askew, and his left hand was throbbing. Also, he'd replaced his Quidditch gloves with warm woolen mittens, which he now discovered didn't have the grip he needed. His hands started to slide forward again, which forced the broom down, and before Harry knew what was going on, he'd crashed through the ice covering the lake and plunged deep into its icy depths.

The water was excruciatingly cold, and Harry felt his heart actually stop in his chest as he continued downward into the murky depths. He went further and further down, until his ears started popping and the pressure on his chest was enough to force the remaining breath out of him in a silvery explosion.

It felt as if he'd been underwater forever and he was seriously beginning to consider what it would be like to drown when something wrapped itself around his ankles and thrust him backwards, up, up, up and through the ice, over the surface of the lake, and onto the shore directly in front of Ambrose Walken, who had sprinted towards the spot where the tentacle's path intersected the shore.

"Harry! Harry! Are you alright? Speak to me, boy!"

"_Mumph,_" Harry said, spitting out a mouthful of soggy feathers and ice-cold lake water.

"For goodness' sake!" a heavily accented voice cried. "What happened?" Harry tried to answer, but he couldn't get his breath, something was in his mouth, his throat, and his lungs. Around him, the world had been reduced to shadows and the occasional flashing spot floating before his eyes. He was vaguely aware of someone rolling him on his side, and then he felt a wand-tip jabbed into his chest. The woman's voice murmured an incantation, and suddenly Harry felt as if a giant had grabbed him beneath the arms and squeezed. Every muscle in his chest and stomach contracted at once, and he vomited forth a jet of filthy water, broken and water-logged feathers, and the remains of his breakfast. Strong hands grasped him under the arms and pulled him backwards, away from his own mess, and after a few moments, he sucked in a great, agonizing, whistling breath of cold air. Around him, more incantations were flying, and his cloths were suddenly only slightly damp. A pocket of warm air surrounded him, and Harry looked up to see a blob of brownish red growing larger and larger before his eyes. Just as he realized it was about to hit him squarely in the face, a hand reached over his head and snapped it adeptly from the air.

"Merlin, Ambrose! Pay attention! Do you want to brain the boy with his own broom? And where are his spectacles?" Harry's head turned uncertainly towards the voice, and he found himself looking directly into the blurry face of the mystery witch.

"He must have lost them in the lake. I've got it…what in the…" Harry saw an indistinct Professor Walken catch several flying bits. "Well, this won't do. _Reparo_. There…good as new." He carefully placed Harry's glasses back on his face. The professor knelt before him and gazed at him curiously. "Look, he's cognizant again. What happened, Harry? You were flying by and all of a sudden you dove into the lake. You didn't _mean_ to do that, did you? And where did all these feathers come from?"

"Mean to?" Harry said indignantly. "Are you bloody nuts? I hit a ruddy owl!"

"Mind your manners, Mister Potter," the witch named Minnie said in an authoritative voice that was somehow familiar. "We didn't see an owl flying over the lake; we only saw you." As Harry gazed at the lake's glassy surface, he couldn't see anything unusual either, other than the hole he must have made on entry and the line of crushed ice and open water that the squid created while tossing him ashore. He attempted to adjust his glasses, which he thought had been bent and misadjusted by the crash, as he was seeing two of everything.

"It's got to be out there…it felt like a bloody sack of potatoes when I hit it!"

"Well these are undoubtedly feathers," Professor Walken said, looking with some disgust at the mess Harry had made when he vomited, "so I certainly believe you hit something." Professor Walken picked a few of the more intact specimens from where Harry had spit them on his expulsion from the lake. "I can't believe anything would have flown off after a collision like that."

"It's a mystery, no doubt about it, but this place seems to crawl with them." The black-haired witch looked from the lake to Harry. "Mister Potter, you'd better head straight to the infirmary. Can you make it there unassisted, or would you like us to go with you?"

"I think I can make it," Harry said, testing his legs. They supported him well enough, and he stood for a moment, looking from Professor Walken to the black-haired witch he now knew as Minnie.

"Thank you Professor and…I'm sorry," Harry said politely, "I don't believe I caught your name." She was starting to look very familiar, and Harry was forming an idea as to who Minnie was. He again attempted to adjust his glasses, which weren't cooperating after the crash.

"I don't believe I gave it to you. You can call me Minnie…I'm an old friend of your Professor."

"Well thank you as well, Minnie." Harry nodded his head respectfully and she waved her hand dismissively.

"Off with you then, Mister Potter. I'm certain Madame Pomfrey would have our heads if we kept you out here any longer. We'll take care of this mess."

As Harry turned to go, he saw a scrap of parchment fluttering across the frozen surface of the lake. He slipped his wand from his pocket and summoned it as unobtrusively as he could. The tiny fragment flew directly into Harry's outstretched hand, but before he could look at it, Ambrose spoke from behind him.

"We'll take care of that, Mister Potter, thank you for retrieving it. I really must insist you go to the hospital wing now -- this kind of thing could be very detrimental to your health -- more so than you know." Harry unhappily gave the parchment up, but clandestinely snapped the bit of wax from it before the adults had noticed it was even there. He trudged away shakily and made his way up to the castle and the Hospital Wing.

When Harry tottered into the infirmary, Madame Pomfrey leapt to her feet so fast that she nearly upset the tray upon which her lunch rested. She scowled and mopped up spilled tea with one hand while summoning Harry to her with the other. "Mister Potter! Speak up, lad! What happened?"

"I, uh, crashed into the lake."

"You…what?"

"For crying out loud! Why does everyone act as if I did it on purpose? It was an accident!"

"Calm down, Potter, you're in bad enough shape as it is! What you meant to do is irrelevant; the damage has been done. Let's have a look at you." Madame Pomfrey poked and prodded Harry for the next fifteen minutes, paying special attention to his hands, and his sore face. She muttered to herself as she went. "It's a wonder you don't have hypothermia! Look at me." Harry looked into her sharp eyes, wondering what she was searching for. He was starting to feel dizzy and congested, and an ache was starting to spread from behind his eyes. Before he could register what she was doing, Madame Pomfrey took his left hand and pulled his fingers straight, which caused excruciating pain. "Broken, as I suspected." She waved her wand over his hand and the sharp pain subsided to a dull ache. By now, Harry was very groggy indeed. Madame Pomfrey's voice was echoing in his ears, and he realized that even now with his glasses off, he was seeing double.

"You've gotten yourself a bit of a concussion, Potter, not to mention a broken nose to go along with your fingers. I'm afraid you'll be here for the night, perhaps even two. Jump into bed then. As much as you're here, I'm going to start leasing you a cot!" She unstopped a bottle of sweet-smelling potion and poured a finger into a small glass. It tasted of citrus, and the moment it touched his lips, the ache behind Harry's eyes began to subside.

"This is good," He murmured. "Well, better than the Skele-Gro, anyway." Madame Pomfrey snorted and pulled the curtain around Harry's bed. His eyes were growing very heavy indeed, but he could hear some commotion on the other side of the screen. It ended with Madame Pomfrey's no-nonsense voice.

"No visitors tonight! Let the boy get some rest!"


	13. Chapter 13 Veri Sigillum

author's note1800 views in the last month, and only 2 reviews? You're putting me to shame here! Even if it's just an "I was here", drop me a note…make me feel loved/author's note Chapter 13 – Veri Sigillum 

Harry awoke some time later, feeling much better. The sun had gone down, and everything was tranquil. He raised his left hand and waggled the fingers gingerly. They were stiff and his knuckles still hurt, but the pain was mostly gone. He squinted at the shadowy blotch that was his formally injured hand. Though it was indistinct, at least there was only one of them. He dropped back to the bed and stared at the high ceiling. Harry had been in the hospital wing so many times that he literally knew every crack above this particular bed. After a while, he drifted into an uneasy sleep, punctuated by occasional forays into semi-consciousness. It was quite late when he heard the voices he first mistook for a dream.

"_Harry? Harry? See, he's sleeping! I told you this was a bad idea…honestly! Sometimes I wonder why I..."_

"_Oh, shove off! You were willing enough in the Common Room."_

"_That's because you told me he'd be awake."_

"He is," Harry said, brusquely.

"Harry?" Hermione whispered, "I thought you were sleeping!"

"Who could sleep at a time like this?"

"Er, sorry, mate," Ron said apologetically. "We just wanted to make sure you were alright! We heard that you were dragged into the lake by the squid. You must have really made it mad!"

"I wasn't dragged in by the squid…if it wasn't for the squid; I'd probably still be down there."

"Then what happened? You didn't just fall in, did you?" Ron asked, trying not to laugh and failing. Harry struggled, rising to an elbow. As soon as he was sure they were alone, he dropped back to his pillow with a grunt.

"I…" Harry winced at the sound of his own voice. "I hit something in the air…there was an invisible bird of some kind, and I crashed into it. If Professor Walken and Minnie wouldn't have been there, I'd have probably died."

"An invisible bird?" Ron said.

"Minnie?" Hermione added.

"One at a time!" Harry complained. He groped for his glasses, which were on the table next to him, and finally managed to get them on his head, only slightly askew. He looked from Ron to Hermione, who were now only slightly fuzzy.

"I don't know anything about the bird, except I hit it and it was _big_…and I mean big. It gave me a broken nose _and_ a concussion, and that's not counting how I almost drowned after I flew straight into the lake, or the broken fingers."

"Oh!" The look on Hermione's face almost stopped Harry's heart for the second time in the same day. He decided to go on, for his own good.

"Minnie is the witch who's been hanging around with Professor Walken."

"No way!" Ron said, looking astonished. "You _met_ her? Better keep it from Seamus or he'll never leave you alone."

"That can wait, Ron," Hermione scolded, "did you hear what he said? He hit an invisible bird! There aren't supposed to be any of those around here!"

"Not only that, it was carrying a letter!" Ron immediately forgot about Minnie.

"What did it say?"

"I don't know," Harry said, glumly, "Walken and Minnie got hold of it. But I did get this…" Harry leaned over the side of his bed with a shudder and a groan, and shook his trainer. A small blob of green dropped into his palm. He tipped it into Hermione's hand, and she studied the stamped-in crest in the weak moonlight.

"Hmm. Have you looked at this?"

"No. I've been sleeping, remember?" Hermione opened her mouth, and then closed it, and then opened it again.

"Well, go on then," said Ron, irritably, "if you know something, spit it out!"

"It's just…well, I've seen this before on some letters…"

"And?" Ron asked shortly.

"And they were addressed to Malfoy."

"I _knew_ it!" Ron nearly shouted, before he remembered where he was. "What would Malfoy be sending with an invisible bird?"

"He wasn't sending anything," Harry said, flexing his hand. "I got hit from the left side and the castle was on my right. He was receiving something."

"Do you think we should tell Headmaster Dumbledore?" Hermione asked. Before Harry could answer, Ron spoke up.

"No. No, because we've got Malfoy right where we want him, now."

"I fail to see how we've got him where we want him when don't even know what we've caught him at. I mean, I know he's an arrogant prat, but we don't even have any proof that he was doing something wrong."

"Oh, yeah," Ron muttered, "because people send things with invisible owls _all the time_."

"Would you two knock it off? In case you hadn't noticed, I've just been slapped in the face with a ruddy bird, tossed into an icy lake, tossed out by a squid the size of a house, and shot with some kind of constrictor curse that's left my ribs feeling as if I just went a round with Dudley. And did I mention the bloody _concussion_ and a broken nose?" Everything was silent for a few moments, and then Hermione apologized, followed by Ron.

"Ron," Hermione said softly, "would you mind explaining just why we've 'got Malfoy where we want him'?"

"Look, every time we tell someone that Malfoy is an evil git, they just blow it off, right? And no one knows about this letter but us, right? And Malfoy doesn't know what happened to his owl…only that he never got it. He may send more letters, or they may send more letters, but one thing's for sure – If we go talk to Dumbledore, he'll probably call Malfoy in, or talk to his wench of a mother, and then Malfoy will know the game is up. If we keep this to ourselves, no one will be any the wiser, except us!" Both Harry and Hermione were quiet. Hermione was the one to break the silence.

"That may be one of the most well-thought-out arguments I've ever heard from you. You no longer have any excuse to under-perform."

The door to the infirmary clicked softly and Hermione and Ron both drew their wands. Ron moved directly in front of Harry, and Hermione crouched near the end of the bed. They didn't say a word, and the stifling silence was eerie. Harry was happy to notice that they were using some of the tactics they had worked on in D.A., but that didn't keep him from fumbling for his own wand, which was under his pillow. Soft, light footsteps echoed through the huge room. They paused once or twice, but always came closer and closer to where Ron, Harry, and Hermione were concealed behind the tall, white curtain.

A small, dark figure crept around the screen, and it was a moment before any of the three recognized her. She stopped dead at the sight of three wands leveled in her direction.

"Parvati?" Harry said. Her green eyes grew as big as galleons, and she breathed a single question in a small, wavering voice.

"Is this a bad time?"

"Parvati," Hermione said coolly. "What are you doing here?"

"Hello, Hermione. I heard about Harry and I was just on my way back from the Astronomy Tower, so I thought I'd stop by. Listen, would you mind not pointing the wands at me, because frankly, it makes me a bit nervous."

"Oh," Ron stammered, "uh, yeah, sorry about that." All three of them lowered their wands, and Parvati smiled nervously.

"Not to nitpick," Hermione said casually, "but the Astronomy Tower is on the other side of the castle."

"Well, I took the long route," Parvati said. "What's your excuse?" Hermione bristled.

"The same as yours, I expect." Harry could feel the tension in the air, and from the looks of Ron, so could he.

They spoke awkwardly for a few minutes, until Hermione yawned noisily. "Come on, Ron, it's time for us to get to bed. You should probably be getting along as well," she said to Parvati.

"I will, in just a bit. Honestly, Hermione; I'm not going to steal him from you!"

"Hold on," Ron said, "where are we going?"

"I'm going to bed," Hermione said stiffly. "I don't know where you're going, but it had better be someplace back in the Gryffindor tower. It's _well_ after curfew." She grabbed Ron's robe and pulled him along behind her.

"Well then," Harry said. "Uh…Ron, Hermione, I'll talk to you tomorrow, about the letter thing."

"Maybe I should go," Parvati said, her radiant smile faltering as she watched Ron and Hermione walk away. Hermione was muttering under her breath, and the giant room with its stone walls and floor amplified and garbled her words. Some of them were making it back to Parvati and Harry, however, and it was very obvious that Hermione was not pleased.

"No! I mean, Hermione and Ron have already left, there's no use you leaving as well. Then I'd be all alone." Parvati's sly grin returned.

"Well, we can't have you all alone, can we? Anyway, Saturday just wouldn't feel right without you passing out on the sofa in the Common Room, so I had to come down and see you. So, what's the damage?"

"Oh, It's not too bad," Harry said bravely, "a few broken fingers, a few broken bones in my hand, a broken nose, a concussion…"

"Ooh! You poor thing! What happened?"

"Well, you see, it happened like this…"

The next evening, Madame Pomfrey informed Harry that he could go back to his dormitory. He was happy to be released, but the day and a half of total relaxation had done him some good. He felt refreshed, and even a little anxious, and he was ready to get something done, even if it was just homework. Ron had brought him _The Light Side to Dark Magic_, and he'd finished it up just before he'd been turned loose from the Hospital Wing. It didn't dwell on magical reciprocity as much as he'd thought it would; that was only a single chapter. The other eleven focused on the various arguments over what made a spell "dark" or "light". It had become apparent to Harry somewhere around chapter five that the line was not clearly drawn.

"Well, if it isn't Potter the Porpoise. Have a craving for a little winter swim, did we?"

"Shove it, Malfoy." Ron said, half-heartedly. He was concentrating on getting his nose back to normal, with moderate success. It was still about four inches long, but at least it was normal-shaped. Connor's was distinctly piggish, and he was starting to show signs of frustration. Occasionally, deep red sparks would trail from his wand's tip, marking the movements.

"Is that the best you can do, Weaselby?"

"_Mister Malfoy!_" Draco's face dropped at the sound of Professor McGonagall's severe voice.

"Yes, professor?"

"Don't take that tone with me! Are you planning on sitting with the Gryffindors now?"

"No!" Malfoy was scandalized, and his pale cheeks flushed.

"Then get back to your seat, and quit trying to cause trouble."

"_Later, weasel_," Draco whispered menacingly.

"Whatever, Malfoy."

"Ron, I'm proud of you!" Hermione said brightly. "You hardly argued with him!"

"I don't need to," Ron replied. "I'm already coming up with something better."

"Ron…" Hermione warned.

"Never you mind. I may need your help, though."

"Are you out of your mind? I'm not helping you _get back_ at any one! I'm a Prefect! And so are you, you might remember. That sort of thing is supposed to be below you."

"Okay, first of all, nothing is below me when it comes to paying back Malfoy. I'd load dragon dung with my bare hands, if it made him look like the twit he is." Hermione frowned and scrunched up her face at the vivid imagery her imagination was likely producing, and Ron continued, heedless. "You'll help and you know it, so stop with the pointless lectures already. And why are you so quiet today?" Ron turned to Harry, who was considering leaving his nose the way it was for a day, just to see what people did.

"What?"

"You're quiet, mate. Why?" Harry shrugged.

"Nothing to say about it, I guess."

"You're not…you know…are you?" Harry was a little depressed, but smiled.

"No more than normal, no. Thanks for asking."

"Don't mention it," Ron said, and then leaned in so only Harry could hear him. "So what's the story with you and Parvati?"

"The story? There is no story."

"But she snuck out to visit you, mate! She fancies you!"

"Have you been talking to Neville?"

"What?"

"Never mind. Anyway, after the fourth-year Yule Ball, I'm surprised she'll even say hello." They both made an attempt to unobtrusively peek at Parvati and Padma, who were giggling and pointing at each other's noses. Padma caught his eye and smiled, and Harry quickly looked away. Ron continued to stare.

"She's looking at you…oi! Why'd you look away? She's giving you the eye!"

"She's not giving me the eye, we're just friends."

"She _snuck out_ to see you!"

"Maybe, but so did you, and we're not snogging or anything. We're just friends. And anyway, did you see how Hermione got around her?"

"You're telling me, mate. She wouldn't tell me what her problem was either…just kept muttering something about a 'lime-lighting hussy'."

"That's nice; really nice."

"Well, she hasn't been mean to you or anything, has she?"

"Hermione or Parvati?"

"Hermione. Of course Parvati is going to be nice – she's sweet on you." Ron smirked and Harry sighed.

"Just friends, Ron, and no, Hermione hasn't been in the least mean to me." He sighed again, dramatically. "Why's it have to be so bloody confusing? They can write a book on how to turn a snake into a canoe and they can't explain sixth-year girls."

"I'm telling you, she's got something for you. You should ask her to Hogsmeade."

"Have you been listening? The last date we had, I ignored her completely…just like _you_ did with Lavender. You wouldn't go asking her to Hogsmeade, would you?"

"Well, no," Ron admitted, "but that's because she'd say no. C'mon Harry, you have to think she's pretty!"

"Bloody gorgeous," Harry said, before he could catch himself.

"Lavender could be a right pain, hanging around all the time," Ron said, "and that constant giggling could drive anyone mad."

"She's not that bad when she's alone," Harry countered. Ron stopped speaking and stared at him with a funny look on his face.

"Are you listening to yourself? She's sweet on you, and it sounds as if you like her, so what's the problem?"

"When did you become an expert, Ron?"

"Any idiot could see it, and I'm not an idiot, am I?" Harry preferred to keep his opinion on this matter to himself.

"Right, then. We'll see about that. So, uh, what did you have planned for Malfoy?"

"I'm not telling," said Ron with a secretive air. "I'm keeping it to myself until I've got it figured out. I'll need your help though, and probably Hermione's."

"What makes you think we'll get Hermione to help?"

"You've just got to know how to work her."

"You, working Hermione? I'll bet! Hermione would have you out-thought in a minute."

"You'd think so, wouldn't you…I've only got one or two tricks, but they're _good_ tricks." They looked to Hermione, who was trying to help Connor get his nose straightened out. The sparks in the air had apparently highlighted a problem with the wand movements he was using, and, not surprisingly, she had spotted at least one of his problems.

"No, it's like _this_." Hermione gracefully twirled her wand, leaving a trail of glittering gold that streamed from the end of her wand like a ribbon. Connor copied her movements, and his flattened snout gradually began to straighten out.

After his Defense class on Tuesday, Harry stopped to talk with Professor Shacklebolt.

"Hello, Harry."

"Hello, sir. I just wanted to let you know that I finished that book."

"What did you think?"

"It made a lot of sense…too much, maybe. Before I read it, I knew that curses were always bad. Now I've got all of these ideas running through my head…I'm not so sure. I mean, I'm pretty sure Professor Walken used one on me after…uh, after I got out of the lake, and I think I might have drowned, otherwise."

"That's good, Harry. That means you're challenging conventional wisdom. Aurors have to know and cherish the rules, but the best do so because they know _why_ the rules exist. Just to accept them _a priori_ is certainly acceptable, but to accept without question is to put yourself in a dangerous place."

"I did have one question, if that's alright?"

"Certainly."

"Voldemort told me 'there is no good and evil, only power, and those willing to seek it.' I didn't believe him at first, because, well…"

"Because it came from him, but now it's starting to make more sense, isn't it?" Harry nodded. "Well, Voldemort is no fool, but as was his habit, he took things to the extreme. Issues of good and evil are really a question of philosophy, but there's a grain of truth there. Even bad spells can have good uses, and you shouldn't blind yourself to their uses simply because they're called 'curses'."

"I'd have never thought of it that way, without reading that book."

"Well, that's the point, isn't it? I'm glad that you're thinking, Harry. If you have any questions, I trust you'll ask?"

"Of course, professor."

"Good. Now, if you'll excuse me, I do have one more class today."

Harry went back to his dormitory, only to find that Quidditch practice had been moved forward, and no one had told him. He was already ten minutes late. With a flick and a profoundly annoyed grunt, he vanished the glass from one of the large Common Room windows and shot out into the gray sky. He turned partially and flicked again, and the glass reappeared. His broom was pulling slightly to the left and downward, and he frowned, thinking of his inadvertent trip into the lake.

He took it easy for the first fifteen minutes or so, and even though Katie must have noticed it, along with his tardiness, she didn't say anything. After twenty minutes, she sent Natalie to fly with Harry.

"Hey, Natalie…I don't suppose you heard about my uh, incident?"

"Oh, I heard. Katie made us promise not to say anything thought…she doesn't want you to develop some kind of fear of flying."

"Fear of flying? Because of one little crash?"

"That's what I said. I told her I've crashed loads of times, and I'm not afraid to get back on."

"Well, if it had just been my fault, maybe, but I hit something!"

"Is that it? They were pretty hazy with the details. What did you hit?"

"I don't know, I think it was an owl. Say, my broom is a little off after the collision, know anything about that?"

"I'd have to look, Harry, but off-hand, I'd say if you want me to do any work on it, you'll need to talk Hermione into helping me, because those things have protection charms on them like you wouldn't believe! You can't even properly detail them without removing a few."

"Great," Harry muttered, thinking of how annoyed Hermione was when Ron mentioned that he'd need her help to get back at Malfoy. She'd expressly forbidden Natalie from doing any kind of work whatsoever on the brooms, and Harry could only imagine her hitting the roof when he asked her to help Natalie in removing the anti-tamper charms. He could always send it back to the factory, but that would take two to six weeks, and unless you had their premium maintenance service, they didn't provide a replacement broom. Harry shuddered at the thought of having to ride an old school Comet. On the bright side, if he absolutely had to send it in, at least it would be back in time for the match against Hufflepuff, which wasn't until February.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

"How do you know what a penny is? I thought you were from a wizarding family."

"I'm Canadian, remember? We don't use those silly galleons and the like."

"Oh. What do you use?"

"Loonies, Toonies; regular money."

"Loonies? That's what you call your money? And you call ours silly!"

"Just tell me what's going on!"

"Well, I was just thinking how impossible it's going to be to get Hermione to help you. I'll work on her, but I wouldn't hold my breath, if I was you."

"Just send her to me, Harry. Anyway, if I have to, I'm sure I can get the charms off all by myself. It'll just take me quite a while. If that happens, you may be better off sending it into the factory."

"I really hate to do that. Is it safe to keep in the air?"

"No damaged broom is safe to keep in the air. Is it getting worse?"

"It doesn't seem to be. I just can't let it coast in a straight line…it goes into a dive on me."

"Well," said the graceful, silken-haired Chaser, "that's not good, but if it seems to be holding steady at that level of performance, you can probably keep riding it. Maybe you should push it once or twice today; try to get some performance out of it. Tell me if it develops a shudder or if it behaves erratically." Harry nodded, and Katie's hoarse voice echoed up to them.

"Hey! You two! Quit jawing and seek, already! Potter, I expect to see you up to form by next week!" As they pulled into a search formation, Natalie said, "One last thing – if you do wind that broom up, do it over something soft." She winked and dropped back, and for the first time since the Tri-Tizard Tournament, Harry was a bit nervous about being on a broom.

"Concentrate, Potter. Weasley, Granger, Patil, Longbottom, that filthy American: you are naming the next victims of the Dark Lord. Correct me if I'm wrong…I thought I warned you that I wouldn't tolerate regression in your work."

"I'm sorry, sir," Harry said resignedly. "It must be from the concussion."

"That is a reason, Potter, not an excuse."

Harry gritted his teeth. He'd grasped the inundation technique of Occlumency, but the next step was not coming easy. He was supposed to be able to subvert ideas and emotions completely, but it just wasn't coming. He knew part of it was Snape making him nervous, and when he'd mentioned that during the last lesion, the professor had leaned over his desk and looked Harry in the eye from so close that Harry could smell the sour scent of sweat and smoke that must have been perpetually instilled from countless hours over boiling cauldrons.

"Would you say I make you more or less nervous than _Lord Voldemort_?" Harry didn't have to reply; as much as he hated Snape, and that was quite a lot, he got the point.

Coming back to his senses, Harry realized that the professor was gazing at him with a look of extreme distaste stuck to his callow face. He renewed his efforts to remove the more relevant information from his mind, and started to go through all of the football rivalries he knew. _Manchester United, Manchester City, Arsenal…_ In five minutes, there wasn't a relevant thought in his head. Of course, he had no idea how he was going to manage to do Occlumency and still remain functional, but for now, at least it got Snape off his back. By the end of the lesson, Harry was totally done in, though he was proud of himself for having made it. He wanted nothing more than a very hot shower and to sleep in his bed. As he rose to leave, Snape mentioned almost casually, "The Headmaster wishes to speak to you."

"Tonight?" Harry asked. The look on Snape's face was answer enough. "Can it wait?"

"No, it can't wait, you arrogant whelp! Get out of my office, and go directly to his!"

Only a short time later, Harry was sitting in the Headmaster's office, which was by now becoming quite familiar to him, and staring at a pair of glasses that looked very much like his. They were resting under a crystal dome on the large desk.

"So, what you're telling me is someone sent these things in to switch with mine?"

"Yes, Harry, or at least that is what we suspect, since there is not enough evidence to prove or disprove the theory. They are, you will notice, remarkably similar to your own."

"Does anyone know who's responsible?"

"Not yet, though we are still investigating."

Harry had his suspicions; he still had the wax seal in a small box in his chest. He just couldn't say anything about it because it would ruin any future plans for getting even with Malfoy. "Does this have anything to do with what happened this weekend?" He fearlessly stared at Dumbledore with a shrewd look in his brilliant green eyes, which were still both ringed with black from the broken nose he'd suffered on Saturday.

"We suspect that the two incidents are related. Without knowing who sent these," Dumbledore tapped the dome over the tainted spectacles with a long finger, "we can't really say one way or the other. The evidence is purely circumstantial and the speculation merely that - speculation. Still, with things the way they are even speculation warrants a hard look."

Harry nodded in agreement and took a deep breath, letting out slowly. Something inside him said that he should be upset, and part of him was. The other part was ruminating over the fact that he'd been a target for so long that this new development was just another day in what had become his life. After a moment of contemplation, he asked the question Dumbledore seemed to be waiting for.

"So what do we do then? I mean, I can't go around afraid to wear my own glasses or put on my own shoes!

"Harry, do you know what a _sigil_ is?"

"It's a type of rune, isn't it?"

"That is correct. Sigils are special because they cannot be altered or duplicated. You've seen them used around you – on our exams as you may have observed, as well as a sign of ownership. They are often used as a signature of sorts on contracts and documents. The Dark Mark that is burned into the arm of every Death Eater is even a type of sigil." Harry was silent, and Dumbledore gazed at him until he realized that the old man was waiting for him to connect things.

"So if I was to learn how to make one…"

"And if you placed it dutifully on your belongings…"

"Then it would be harder to switch them out with things like _this_," Harry finished, tapping the dome over the phony glasses. Professor Dumbledore nodded and smiled encouragingly.

"I have made arrangements for Professor Flitwick to teach you the necessary spells, and you won't be alone in this endeavor, as he has graciously agreed to allow Miss Granger to assist you. I'm told that she has been capable of similar magic for quite some time, now.

"I won't lie to you, Harry, the _Sigillum_ charm is not difficult to cast, though learning it can be a bit tricky and preparing for it is charitably described as a chore, and most would be a bit more honest. Your first attempts may be somewhat…disappointing. Not to worry, however, as the important thing is that your belongings are easily identifiable to you, and even a simple sigil should do the trick. That isn't to say I don't think you're capable of much more!" Harry looked at his hands nervously.

"When do I start that?"

"Tomorrow, after your last class, if that's acceptable. You don't have to do learn the Sigillum charm, of course, but I thought that you might want a bit of advice on how to deal with this situation. It is, in the end, your prerogative."

"But you've arranged it already!"

"I merely facilitated what I thought would be an agreeable course of action. If you have different thoughts on the matter, I'm more than willing to entertain them."

"No, that's okay. It sounds reasonable to me. I appreciate the help."

"Of course, my boy! Might I also suggest wards on your personal area? I know you and Remus have worked with them in the past, and I would be glad to offer my assistance, should you require it."

"Thanks. I'll let you know if I can't get it. Do you think it's okay to let Ron help?"

"Who you trust is a very personal matter, and sadly, as you know, there is no one who should be considered completely safe. That being said, I think Mister Weasley and Miss Granger would bet two excellent confidants. In addition, I notice that you share an amicable relationship with Mister Colier. Certain…events in his past have made him very sensitive to his surroundings, so it may be to your advantage to maintain a healthy relationship with him."

"I wish you could tell me more about him."

"Alas, I cannot. I'm certain that when he sees fit, he will tell you more about his past. I can tell you that he has reasons to be secretive, just as you would, if you were somehow forced to flee to America." Harry nodded.

"Is that all, sir?"

"It is. One last question – How is the D.A. progressing?"

"It's going well. We have an advanced group that meets later in the week, and as soon as I'm done here, we have a group of beginners. Ron's with them right now…or I hope he is. If he isn't, they're all alone."

"I hear there are even Slytherins partaking in your activities?"

"Yeah, three or four, actually."

"That is excellent news. Solidarity, Harry."

Harry made his way to the Basic D.A. just in time to catch them winding up for the night. Ron didn't seem particularly mad that he'd missed it, and from the small-talk coming from the students, it had been a good lesson. He looked for the handful of Slytherin students, and found them spread among the others, chatting with Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, and even Gryffindors.

"What are you looking at," Ron asked, clapping his friend on the back.

"Solidarity," Harry replied, with a grin.

"Hello, Remus." Harry was staring into his mirror, watching Remus walk through the corridor to what looked like the library.

"Hello, Harry. How are your lessons?"

"They're alright. Did Dumbledore contact you about last Saturday?"

"We spoke briefly of it, yes. How are you feeling?"

"Madame Pomfrey had me straightened out right away."

"I imagine she did. I heard there was some kind of attempt to slip you some cursed glasses as well." Harry frowned.

"Next thing, someone will send me poisoned food!"

"Hmm? Oh, no. Attempting to poison your meals, at least those you take in the Great Hall, would be terribly inefficient."

"What?"

"Sorry, Harry, I was just thinking out loud. I suspect you're going to ask me about some of the wards we placed on your house?"

"Well, I was going to ask you if there was any reason the ones we placed on the entrances wouldn't work on my chest and bureau. I think I could manage them on my own."

"No reason at all. You'll have to change them slightly if they're to be used to guard objects rather than portals, but they're well within your capabilities. You may want a hand; it's not necessary, but it would speed things up."

"I think Ron would help me out. Dumbledore's arranged for me to learn to make sigils as well, but I've heard that's really tough. It's not in our charms book for this year."

"That's seventh-year, N.E.W.T. level and beyond, but you ought to be able to handle it. I'm fairly certain I have one of your father's old signets, if you want to see it. We used them to verify letters. I'll post it to you as soon as I find it. I'd have Hermione help you out there, if she's willing. That sounds as if it's right up her alley."

"All I'll have to do is tell her they're ridiculously difficult, and she'll jump on them like they're hers alone," Harry said casually. Remus chuckled.

"Just keep me in the loop, Harry. I don't like this new development, but I'm glad to hear they're taking it seriously, and you're taking it seriously. Keep an eye on the map for names you should know. I'm always here if you need help." Harry nodded and flopped back on his bed, closing his eyes.

Manchester United, Manchester City, Arsenal, Chelsea… 

"Well, Harry, I must say this is tough, but not impossible." Harry and Hermione were sitting in the Common Room discussing the Sigillum charm. Professor Flitwick was as cheerful as ever when he demonstrated the proper procedure for preparing the base for the signet, and that's as far as they'd gotten today. After their private lesson, Hermione sat down with Harry to explain the rest of the procedure.

"Well, first we have to make the signet, which is what Professor Flitwick was telling us about today. I think for your first one, we should use clay, don't you? I mean, real ones are cast, but that seems quite a bit more difficult…we may as well get the rest down before we spend all that time!"

"Ah, sure, whatever you say." Harry held up the inconspicuous-looking hunk of clay that Professor Flitwick had given them. It was wrapped in mostly-transparent paper that had been enchanted to stay moist. "It was nice of him to give us a bit of this to start off with."

"Especially since it will take a month to make the next one," Hermione agreed. "We've got to cast five separate charms on it, and keep it damp, and it has to be left out to cure before we carve the rune into it…but we don't have to do all that, since he gave us a bit. I suspect the next one we'll have to do from scratch, though. I have a book of runes and what they mean. Would you like to look at that?"

"Er…sure," Harry said, starting to feel overwhelmed. He was remembering what he'd told Remus. He'd mostly been joking, but it was more or less true that the best way to get Hermione to help was to tell her how tricky it would be. "Can you make up your own?"

"Of course! Most prominent wizards end up creating their own, sooner or later. In fact, we spent nearly a month learning loads of them in the fourth year."

"Can I use my father's?"

"No…I'm really sorry, Harry, but you can't use someone else's. That's kind of the point though, isn't it? You can make one like it though…you can have a family seal as well, but I haven't read enough about that yet. I promise I'll look at it more!"

"Don't worry, Hermione, I know you will. So we should probably get to work on ours, right?"

"Well you remember what Professor Flitwick said," she remarked, looking at her closely cut fingernails. "The signet is sealed by the full moon, which is ten days away. Do you think we'll be ready by then?"

"Well, we've got to get it done before someone really does slip something in on me. We'll just try it, I guess, and if we mess it up, we've got enough clay left for one more go at it. Perhaps I should do a few, in case I louse one up."

"That may not be a bad idea, Harry. Why don't we start one tonight, and aim to have the other done on Sunday?"

"That's fine." He suddenly remembered that it was Friday and looked at his watch. "I've got to go, Hermione, I've got to meet Professor Shacklebolt. I wanted to talk to you though, about some things. Will you be free tonight?"

"I have prefect rounds, but there's no reason you can't come with me. If anyone asks, I'll tell them you're giving me a hand."

Harry ran all the way to Kingsley Shacklebolt's office, where the Auror was marking papers. He looked up as Harry entered.

"Hello, Harry. I was beginning to wonder if you'd make it."

"Sorry, sir, I had…"

"A lesson with Professor Flitwick, I know. Not to worry; I'm normally in my office for a quite a while on Fridays. I had something a bit special for you today, so I'm glad you came." Harry looked on expectantly, but didn't say anything. "You've certainly learned by now you can cast some spells without an incantation; simply with wand movements. Normally, you don't want to do that, but there are times that it has its advantages."

"That happened in the ministry," Harry said. "We'd silenced one of the Death Eaters, but he still managed to cast some kind of curse on Hermione."

"That is one such occasion the skill can come in handy. There are others; perhaps you're hidden, under an invisibility cloak let's say," the Auror's eyes sparkled at that and Harry tried unsuccessfully to suppress a grin, "and you may want to cast a spell without giving away your exact location. I value the skill because I feel it's strategically advantageous to be able to cast spells without telling your opponent exactly what they are. It's a good deal more difficult to counter a spell when you can't hear the incantation. Some of your more popular spells will be self-evident in their casting, with the wand movements and such, but even the slightest bit of hesitation on the part of your opponent could be the edge you need." Harry nodded, smiling already, and they got to work. He was with the Professor for nearly an hour, by which time he'd learned to pull off a reasonable _impedimenta _and a pretty fair _conjunctivitis_ curse without any incantation whatsoever. He considered it one of his most valuable lessons to date. When they were done, he and Professor Shacklebolt discussed _The Light Side of Dark Magic_, and what made spells 'good' and 'bad'. He didn't come to any new revelations, but he was relieved to discover that Kingsley freely admitted that there was no good answer.

"Usually," the lean Auror said, leaning over his desk, "the best way to determine whether a spell is good or evil is to look at the intent. That's not to say if your intentions are good you can do anything; if you end up setting fire to someone you intended to save, you're still apt to be in some trouble…but do remember this – you don't use a spanner to change a light bulb. Spells are like tools, in that regard: they're dumb. They have no inherent morality, or 'rightness' or 'wrongness'. They simply do what you set them to. Why, if your best friend was acting irrationally and was threatening to hurt themselves, or someone else, would it really be that bad to use the stunning curse, or even the imperious curse?"

Harry nodded. He could see where the professor was coming from.

"Well, Harry, I've kept you too long tonight…I'm sure you have other things to do. I'll see you in class Monday, if not before."

"Thanks, professor…I really appreciate it."

"Anytime, Harry."

Harry had to rush back to the Common Room to get ready for dinner, but he did take the time to practice his silent impedimenta curse on several unwary spiders. None of them stopped completely, as they would have had he done the spell normally, but they did slow down appreciably. He was certain that practice would improve his ability considerably, and excited to try other spells. Perhaps Hermione could help him.

Hermione. There was a subject into which he was reluctant to delve. She'd been very nice to him lately, offering to assist with the Sigillum charm, but the way she'd acted around Parvati still bothered him. He wasn't looking forward to tonight, but after their fourth year, and the misery he'd gone through with Krum, Ron, and Hermione, he was convinced that the best way to handle it was to talk to her sooner, rather than later.

"What's Natalie going on about, wanting to mess with your broom?"

"What?" Harry and Hermione were stalking through third-floor corridors, looking for couples, dare-devils, and trouble makers. So far, tonight had been very quiet, and Hermione had only run into a first-year student who'd gotten lost on the way to the Owlery. Since they sent her off in the proper direction, things were very still.

"Natalie MacDonald has been going on about your broom, and how she needs to repair it, and she'd like me to help. I thought I made it clear that I wasn't going to allow that sort of thing. I'd rather you talk to her, before I have to turn her in."

"Oh. Well, after the collision, my broom is damaged. It pulls down and left. I was hoping she could straighten it out without a return to the factory, but she said she'd need your help."

"I'm not going to get involved in that, Harry! I know she's been tinkering with _other people's_ brooms, and I can't stop that, but I'll not help her with yours."

"C'mon Hermione! She's good! She knows more than our entire Quidditch team put together, and Dean besides. She could probably do it in her sleep!"

"That's all the more reason for me not to allow it. She'll try to slip something extra in and who knows what will happen! You could end up seriously injured, or even killed!"

"That's all the more reason for you to help her! At least then you can keep an eye on what she's doing. Besides, she needs help getting the anti-tamper charms off…she could do it, but it would take a long time. She needs someone really good, and you're the best witch here!"

"Flattery won't get you anywhere, Harry. They have those charms for a reason, and I'm not about to remove them just so you can fly backwards."

"I don't want to fly backwards; I just want my broom repaired! Please, just do it as a favor to me. Come on, you _owe me_!"

"Owe you? Are you out of your mind? For what?"

"For getting my Firebolt taken away forever when there was nothing wrong with it."

"Oh, be realistic, Harry! We didn't know where it had come from; _I_ thought it might be cursed! How was I to know…oh, fine! I'll talk to Natalie, but _no promises_. If I don't trust her, she won't lay a hand on that broom, and I'll make sure of it."

They walked in silence for an entire floor, while Harry considered his momentary victory and debated with himself whether he wanted to even mention the situation with Parvati. Finally, he decided it had to be done. He wasted even more time trying to figure out how to broach the subject, until he finally decided to approach it head-on, which hadn't been completely successful for him, but at least it was familiar.

"Hermione?"

"What, Harry?" Harry winced; she still sounded quite angry.

"What's your problem with Parvati?" Hermione's metered footsteps stuttered, and for a while she didn't say anything. Harry was beginning to think that he'd made a serious error in judgment.

"She's not good for you," she finally said.

"What do you mean?"

"She's not good for you," Hermione said again, "she's just…not good."

"May I ask why?"

"All kinds of reasons, Harry! Do you know how much she's in the Astronomy Tower?"

"She's _in_ astronomy!"

"And how do you know she's not up there with a different person every week?"

"Funny you should ask," Harry said, smartly, "I have this map, maybe you've seen it?"

"She only cares about what other people think of her."

"That's not true and you know it. She wouldn't be in Gryffindor if she was that shallow."

"She's a gossip."

"Did she tell you we've been talking at midnight practically every Saturday?"

"Well, no, but…"

"Did she tell you we sit together in Muggle Studies, and that she jabs me with a quill if I start to fall asleep or space off?"

"No, but…"

"She's sitting next to the famous Harry Potter, poking him with a quill, and she doesn't say a thing about it to her own dorm-mate?"

"No! But she told me you were having girl troubles. She asked me what I would do, if I was her! And then she went and told me to 'keep it to myself'! As if she was going to keep it to _her_self. That's a gossip! You don't just go around advertising that sort of thing!" They walked in silence for almost an entire floor.

"Did she tell you who I was having problems with?" Harry asked, not knowing if he wanted Hermione to answer. Hermione stopped walking.

"No. I don't suppose I was _important_ enough to know that. I mean, with _Parvati_ on the case, why would you need to talk to _me_ about it. I'm just…I'm just…" Hermione's voice cracked as she started to cry softly to herself. She tried to walk away from Harry, who was calling for her to stop, and then started to run, but she must have had problems seeing because she bumped into the wall and spun around, where Harry finally got a hold on her robe.

"Hermione! Listen to me!"

"Wh-wh-why should I," she wailed, with her eyes squinted tightly shut and tears streaming down her face, "you've got P-Parvati to talk to about your p-p-problems!" Harry leaned over Hermione and wiped her cheeks off with his sleeve.

"Is that what this is about? You're upset that I didn't talk to you?"

"I'm your f-friend. Why don't you want talk to m-me?"

"Because it was about you," he said softly.

"Wh-what?"

"It was about you. That's why I was in the Common Room at midnight. That's how we got started talking."

"S-s-so when she asked what I'd do…"

"She was asking because it was all about you. You probably _were_ the only one she told. You know that you and Ron are the best friends I've ever had; I'd never even consider replacing you…either of you."

"Why did you have to talk to Parvati about me?" Harry didn't say anything. Instead, he looked at the wall above her, suddenly sensitive to the warmth that was spreading over his cheeks.

"Oh…I'm so stupid!" Hermione quickly tried to compose herself, wiping her face with her sleeve and catching her breath.

"You don't have to be sorry," Harry said uncomfortably, "and you're not stupid."

"I do, and I am! I'm supposed to be this clever witch and it was right under my nose!" Harry realized that he was still holding Hermione's robes, and he let go as he stepped away. Hermione paused to catch her breath. "Did she…help?"

"Yeah, she helped."

"And I've been so mean to her! Honestly, Harry, something's the matter with me!" Hermione captured him in a crushing embrace, and Harry stood awkwardly, holding his friend.

"There's nothing the matter with you, Hermione." He couldn't think of anything else to say, so he waited for her to make the next move. It was true that Parvati had helped Harry, but it still wasn't doing him any good to hold Hermione so closely, smelling her hair and skin. He felt the familiar burning from his heart to his stomach, and wished she would break away. The thought that Ron might suddenly make an appearance also occurred to him…how would he explain that away? After a lifetime of agony, she released him and he stepped away, almost gratefully and none too soon, for not a moment later, Ron rounded the corner.

The hallway was dim and Hermione had managed to get herself in order, and thankfully, Ron didn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary. If he was suspicious that Harry and Hermione were alone together, he didn't show it.

"Oi."

"Hey, Ron," they echoed. Ron fell into step, and they walked three-wide down the corridor without speaking for a bit.

"So, what's up then?"

"Oh," Hermione said casually, "just talking to Harry about a…girl he, um, fancies."

"Really?" Ron stopped suddenly. "What girl is that?" Harry knew that Ron had Parvati in mind, but he figured Hermione probably didn't know that.

"No one in particular," Hermione replied, rather dreamily, "just this one and that one."

"This one and that one," Ron mused. "That sounds about right. You, and Katie Bell, and my little sister!" The situation could have turned nasty, but at the last moment Harry realized that his friend was in fact joking. He answered back with a wide grin.

"I'm easy to love, I suppose, and there's plenty of me to go around."

"Plenty to go around?" Hermione asked, a look of mock disgust on her face. She punched Harry lightly on the arm. They headed back to the Common Room, walking slowly, talking, and laughing as if the small things in life were the only things that really mattered.

The next day, after Quidditch practice, Harry and Hermione worked on creating a signet from the charmed clay that professor Flitwick had provided. Harry was looking dubiously at the small, misshapen lump that was intended to be a stag, but really looked more like a hare with veiny ears.

"Don't worry about it!" Hermione was saying, as he frowned at his creation. It took him nearly an hour to create, and he wasn't pleased with it in the least. "I'm sure it will look totally different when it dries! They always shrink, you know, when they're made of clay. That's why the best are cast!"

"Well, we can be thankful I didn't cast this…it would have been a whole day ruined."

"More like three - and anyway, we don't know even know it's ruined! Give it a chance! Besides, it's your first try, and no one ever gets it right their first go-round."

"At this rate, I'll be lucky to get it before someone slips me some enchanted underwear."

"Now, really, what could enchanted underwear possibly do? Never mind; don't you _dare_ answer that…I don't want to know. We'll just keep on with this, Harry. The important thing is to get the charms down…you can always make a new signet. Look…I meant to ask you something a little, uh, personal." Harry looked up from his hare-faced stag.

"What's that?"

"Well, er; that is, I was just…oh!" Hermione was turning red at an alarming rate.

"Just say it, Hermione," Harry said quickly. He hadn't intended to sound harsh; but he was curious and had spoken quickly. Hermione took a deep breath and rushed an entire sentence into one word.

"DoyouwantmetotalktoParvati?" Harry stared at Hermione for a moment or two before answering.

"No…no, thanks for offering, but I don't even know how I feel. I mean, I'd be lying if I told you that I wouldn't like help, but there're other things to consider."

"What 'other things'?"

"Well, Voldemort for one."

"Harry, what does Voldemort have to do with you and Parvati?"

"Well, I'm making her a target just by being around her. I mean, it's bad enough with you two, and if I didn't know you and Ron better I'd seriously consider just calling the whole thing off, just because I'm afraid of what he might try to do to you."

"Calling the whole thing off? Are you mad? Now is when you need your friends more than ever!"

"Snape said that every friend I have is just another target for Voldemort, and for probably the first time ever, I think he may have a point."

"Harry, don't you realize we're in danger anyway? Our only chance is sticking together…of _course_ Voldemort is going to target us; it's either us or him!" With a pang, Harry was reminded of the prophecy. He still hadn't told Hermione or Ron what it was, even though they knew it existed.

"That's what Ron said. It's just that I'm trying hard but the Occlumency isn't working for me, and I can't help but think of you and Ron..."

"And Parvati," Hermione added in a small, quiet voice.

"Sometimes," Harry admitted sheepishly.

"Look, you'll have to work on that, but you can't just push us away; we won't let you. You know what Ron would do, and I won't stand for it either." After a pause she looked up with a half-smirk, "and I'm fairly certain Parvati would be hurt. You don't want that do you?"

"That's not fair!"

"Life isn't fair, Harry. Anyway, even if you pushed us all away, would you really stop thinking of us?"

"Sometimes I hate it when you're right."

"You're lucky to have us, Harry. Throwing us away would be just plain stupid. You're not stupid, are you?"

"Occasionally, I wonder."

Hermione leaned over the table as if she was going to kiss Harry on the cheek, and perhaps thinking better of it, changed to the tip of his nose at the last moment. It was a very friendly kiss, and it made Harry feel quite a bit better.

"So do you want me to speak with her?"

"Just take it easy on her. I'll talk to her myself." He didn't have to worry about looking for Parvati because he knew where she'd be later that night, and he figured it would do him some good to spend some time thinking before he muddled things up even further. He briefly considered asking Ron for advice, but then he thought about how Ron and Hermione were together. Their relationship seemed natural enough to him, but based on how he felt, he was certain Ron was say otherwise. Ron had said that Parvati fancied him; even Neville had, now that Harry thought back, but that didn't make anything easier for him.

Somehow, it didn't seem right that he was more afraid of Parvati than he was of Voldemort.


	14. Chapter 14 When Harry Met Parvati

**NOTE**

My goodness! I didn't realize I'd kept you all waiting that long!

Of course there are NO reviews on the latest chapter, so maybe you don't love me after all. This is to be expected, as we roll up to St. Valentine's Day and I reflect upon the shambles of my ruined ego. You could help you know…

Really!

All you have to do is review! Even just a "thanks for writing" would be swell! I'm serious here…I'm getting discouraged!

Anyway, this is a shorter chapter – 11 pages standard size, so maybe 8 for you people with gargantuan monitors. The next chapter is 10 pages, but it has a lot of dialogue, which I feel excuses a shorter chapter, since its more fatiguing, mentally. The chapter after _that_ is running a solid 20 pages, so you can salivate over that, if long chapters are your kind of thing.

As a special gift, I've posted a teaser for chapter 15 at the end of this.

I do so hope you enjoy!

Pat

**/NOTE**

**Chapter 14 – When Harry Met Parvati**

Try as he might to reason out what was going on inside, nothing made any more sense to Harry by the time he drifted off to sleep on the couch in front of the crackling Common Room fire. He wasn't sure of the time when next he awoke, but he knew instantly that someone was sitting next to him; close but not too close, silent but not stealthy. He tried to remain as still as possible. Should he talk to her? He knew it was Parvati; he could smell her perfume. He hadn't worked out what he wanted to say; in fact, he didn't even know what he felt about her. Cho made him feel giddy, but that was before he even knew her. Parvati actually knew him, and she wanted to be around him anyway, which was confusing enough in and of itself. Several times, Harry was very close to saying something, but he couldn't figure out how to start, and silently closed his mouth.

"Hello, Harry." Parvati spoke in a soft, husky whisper, and it sent shivers up and down his spine. She'd known he was awake?

"Your breathing changed," she said, answering his unspoken question. "Would you rather be left alone?"

"No!" Harry whispered back, far too quickly. He hadn't come up with much, but his eventual plan was to play it cool. "I mean, no, we can talk."

"Well, I'm glad we can, then." She said brightly. Harry was both amused and nervous to discover that he could hear her smile. What should he do next? If she was smiling, that meant she was enjoying his company, which meant that he could still somehow foul things up. He almost preferred making a mess of it from the start, since then at least things could only get better. A gnawing feeling was developing in his stomach, and he briefly regretted eating so much at dinner. His cheeks hurt, and with a conscious effort he managed to stop gritting his teeth, which he hadn't even realized he was doing. So far, playing it cool seemed to be unraveling slightly.

"So, ah, how was the sky tonight?" There; not a bad start – non-committal, casual, and relevant. Harry felt he was to be congratulated.

"Not bad. Frighteningly bitter. At least it's warmer inside now."

"Well, there's still a bit of a fire…" Harry trailed off.

"That's not really what I meant." Parvati had taken a tone very similar to Hermione's, when she was explaining something that should have been obvious. It took Harry a few moments to guess at what she was going on about.

"You mean with Hermione?"

"Yes. She's finally decided I'm worth talking to."

"Well, of course you're worth it." He could hear her smile again.

"For a while I wondered. Did you say something to her?" Harry didn't know whether he wanted to admit to having a talk with Hermione. That would be admitting that he liked Parvati, wouldn't it?

"I brought it up; I mean, there's no reason for her to be upset with you, really."

"Was she jealous?" Parvati asked, in a voice that sounded to Harry as if she was almost hopeful.

"Of course not! Why should she be jealous?"

"Oh," Parvati sounded crestfallen. "Well, then." Harry could feel control of the situation slipping away.

"Why should she be jealous?" Harry went on, trying to salvage some of the evening, "it's like you said…she and Ron are happy enough. She was just um, worried about if you were right for me."

"If I was right for you? We aren't even a couple! Somebody's being a bit presumptuous!"

"Bloody…" Harry turned to Parvati, who was looking as if she was ready to leave. "Hold on a moment, let's start this over, shall we?"

"Start what over?"

"This night."

"I don't see why." She rose gracefully. "I think I've heard quite enough!" It was at this point that Harry realized his plan of playing it cool was now blazing merrily and floating out into the ocean to die a fiery, and then watery death.

"Look, sometimes I'm a bit thick! Just give me a moment to explain!" Parvati paused, but didn't look back at him.

"It had better be good." Before Harry could speak another word, Hermione's tired voice drifted faintly from the stairs leading up to the girls' dormitory.

"Harry? Is that you?" Without thinking, Harry slipped his wand from his pocket, and the next thing he knew, he and Parvati were standing in a pocket in space. Harry was pleased to note that it was far more opaque than the ones he'd been managing, and it was about the size of the first one that he and Nott had created the day they learned the spell, so he was getting better. Parvati wheeled on him. She did not look pleased.

"I don't want Hermione interrupting," he explained. Parvati just stared at him with her large, gleaming eyes. "Look, here's the story. Hermione saw us talking and figured we were…you know…and that upset her, so she took it out on you."

"Why? I don't go off on Weasley every time she starts fawning after him!"

"Well you don't have a thing for Ron, do you?"

"Of course not!" she shot back.

Harry tried to decide whether that meant she liked him. He knew if he could sit down and think about it, he might be able to figure something out, but they hadn't learned anything about stopping time, yet.

"It's like you said; Hermione is my best friend. What would you do if Lavender quit coming to you for advice?"

This time, Parvati was silent, as she considered what life would be like without her best friend.

"Alright, you may have a point there, but why did she have to take it out on me?"

Harry was left thinking about the first time this year he and Parvati had actually talked. Things had been casual then, and he'd remembered thinking that he rather liked talking to girls. Now he wasn't so sure – his head ached, his heart couldn't decide whether to leap, ache, or curl-up in his stomach, and his hands were clammy. "I suppose you'd have to ask her. Maybe she is jealous, now that I think of it." That seemed to make Parvati a bit happier. '_She's happy when Hermione is jealous_,' Harry thought. _'Just when I though I'd figured a little out._' He decided to go with what was working.

"You know, now that I think about it, I think she must be jealous. I must have been wrong earlier. Of course she'd be a little mad when I'm not all hers anymore." His strategy looked to be was paying off. Parvati's face had softened considerably.

"Well, you can't blame her; really," Parvati said. "I mean she's had you to herself for five years. This must be new to her!"

"I know," said Harry, feeling more relieved by the moment. "And I guess she took it out on you because she saw us talking so much." In a stroke of brilliance, he added, "she must view you as a threat, I guess." Harry didn't know exactly what he was doing, but he strongly suspected that last bit had been as close to the perfect thing to say as he could have gotten. Parvati's eyes were almost ridiculously large now: shiny and glowing in the dim light of the bubble.

"That's…that's crazy! She's got no reason to think that…does she?" Harry shrugged.

"We do talk quite a bit. She always gives me advice, and lately you have been, so perhaps she feels as if I'm replacing her with you." Harry was amused. Who'd have thought telling the truth would be so successful? Not that he'd intended to do otherwise, but _playing it cool_ implied certain things…lies of omission, at the very least.

"Oh, but she mustn't think that!" Parvati clutched Harry's arm, and his heart firmly resolved itself to leap. He placed a comforting hand on Parvati's.

"I'll talk to her…I'll make sure she knows you're not trying to replace her."

"Oh, are you sure you don't want me to?"

In actuality, Harry would have liked nothing better than to let Hermione and Parvati straighten things out between themselves without even getting him involved, so he could cut straight to the part where he got to feel warm and fuzzy, and perhaps kiss someone, but a small voice in his head was giving him advice now and he was going with it, since for the moment it seemed to know more about girls than he did.

"No," he said, "I'll make sure I say something to her…I'll explain that we're just good friends, and that we're not trying to replace her." He was acutely aware of using the word _we're_ instead of _I_, and it made him feel a little funny. It was as if he and Parvati actually were a couple. She stepped back, leaving her hand on Harry's arm, and looked around at the bubble.

"What is this, anyway?"

"The _Spatium Sinus_ charm. It makes a bubble in space."

"So, where are we, actually?"

"We're exactly where we were, only space has been moved around us. It's complicated, really. I don't know that I really get it myself."

"You learned this in that new class?"

"Temporalism, yeah."

"I don't know how I didn't get invited and my sister did," she huffed.

"It's odd, really. I mean, there are people in there you'd never think twice about. I think professor Walken is a little loopy, myself - a genius, for sure, but loopy. He's always hanging around with McGonagall."

"Really?" This was Parvati's realm, and she was instantly engrossed.

"Oh, yes. And I didn't tell you this when I was in the infirmary, but I discovered who the black-haired witch is!"

"You didn't!" Parvati breathed huskily. It was all Harry could do to keep his mind on the right black-haired witch.

"She's some kind of relative of McGonagall's! They were on the lakeshore when I crashed my broom; her and Professor Walken. The professor doesn't have any daughters, does she?"

"Not that I know of…I don't believe she's ever been married. A niece perhaps?"

"Could be," Harry agreed. "Her name is Minnie."

"But that's the professor's name! Minerva! Minnie!"

"It is, isn't it?" Harry hadn't thought of that, and he mentally kicked himself. "Maybe she is a daughter then. I'll have to keep an eye on-" He'd almost said _the map_ but caught himself at the last moment, "I'll have to keep an eye on things. It's not like she hasn't been around."

"Did you tell this to _anyone else_?"

"Er…well I told Ron and Hermione her name, but I don't recall mentioning that I suspected they were related, so no."

"Well, maybe we should keep it to ourselves until we get it sorted out." Harry saw absolutely no reason to keep it to himself; or for that matter, no reason to spread it around, but the idea was making Parvati positively glow. Somewhere in his head, a realization was forming with the exacting pace off the sun rising over the mountains.

One thing Parvati Patil liked more than talking was _not talking_. She was a sucker for secrets. Harry understood this, without knowing or caring why.

He stood silently, looking down at her. She'd stepped very close, and was now looking directly into his eyes. Where his were a vibrant green, hers were a sea-foam, flecked with gold and ringed in a very dark grey. Her dark lips were parted slightly as she breathed slowly and deeply, and her black hair, also flecked with gold, was loose tonight. It flowed over her shoulders and down her back in cascading waves that twinkled dimly. In his mind, Harry was struggling to say something – anything at all – but externally, he remained mute.

'_You're blowing it,_' screamed the tiny voice in his head,_ 'she's going to wonder if you've come loose of your moorings if you don't say something, and fast.'_

Even then, he couldn't bring himself to speak. Parvati was still gazing at him with her large eyes, and finally he managed to squeeze out a single breath.

"That's a good idea. We probably should."

Parvati smiled, revealing straight white teeth that would have made Hermione's parents proud. He could feel himself leaning forward a bit, and he could feel Parvati leaning into him. His own heartbeat was pounding in his ears, and had she said something at that moment he very likely would have missed it. As they drew closer Harry reached out without thinking, resting his hands on Parvati's hips at her waist. A million thoughts were running through his head. Questions, fragments of television programs that suggested what exactly he was supposed to do next, and bits of memories of the few kisses he'd had so far swirled among the acute awareness of how her breath felt on his chin and how she smelled and felt beneath his fingertips. Every hair on his body was standing on edge. Parvati's breath was hot on his lips, and he could almost taste her lips when the bubble around them suddenly flickered and disappeared.

Parvati was so surprised that she nearly fell over, and Harry had to move his hands quickly to her shoulders to keep her from tumbling backwards. She continued to hold onto his arms, first for support and then simply because it seemed as if she hadn't thought of anything better to do with them. The spell between them was broken, however, and they looked around guiltily for witnesses. Fortunately the room was empty; Hermione must have given up, if she'd come down at all. When Harry got around to focusing Parvati, she was looking at him, still wearing a smile; but obviously she'd come to her senses. The way Harry's cheeks were burning, he suspected his face was glowing in the dark.

"We'd better be getting along now," she said, "it's…quite late. I'll see you tomorrow, Harry."

"Uh, yeah. Yeah. I'll see you tomorrow then." He then did something that shocked them both, clasping Parvati's hand and shaking it firmly.

'_You are a total idiot,_' the voice in his head announced sourly. Harry agreed, and Parvati must have as well, because she gave him a very odd look. Harry could only shrug, and he was saved from further embarrassment as Parvati stepped up quickly and gave him a very quick kiss on the cheek. She then turned and with a tiny wave vanished into the darkness of the archway that led to the stairs up to her dormitory.

Several minutes later, Harry was in his bed practicing his Occlumency. He didn't want to, because he felt so good that he wanted to hang onto the feeling as long as he could. In spite of that, the small voice, who'd had a very busy night, reminded him that Snape and Voldemort would both pick victims from his head like cherries from a bowl. After tonight, he figured Parvati to be a very inviting target. Last year, he'd skived off practicing for weeks at a time, but then again, he'd been angry nearly the whole time. There was very little that hadn't set him off, and it was tough to concentrate on clearing your mind, when all you wanted to do was find reasons to allow you to continue feeling cross.

He didn't want to feel cross this year. He didn't want to give Snape a reason to hate him even more, as there were quite a few reasons already, thank you very much. Most of all, the last few weeks had convinced him that he couldn't continue pushing people away. Since they insisted on being there whether he wanted them or not, and by and large he wanted them there, all he could do was learn to protect them.

That didn't mean he was any good at Occlumency, however. Snape still had a nearly unchallenged ability to pull thoughts from the surface of Harry's mind. _Poking a Stick in the Mind's Eye_ had offered up several new suggestions, none of which were working as well as the deluge technique that he'd almost mastered by now.

He was supposed to be able to go from a head full of worthless thoughts to nearly no thoughts whatsoever, but he was having a hard time not thinking about his friends and what was going on around him. Once or twice he'd nearly managed to go into a trance-like state that Hermione swore would probably do the trick, but had always been distracted at the last moment. Tonight, as he lay in his bed and stared at the canopy above, he could feel the weight of the last few weeks slipping away. Perhaps he'd discovered the secret to Occlumency – Parvati simply had to kiss him just before he went into Snape's office.

Though most of Harry acknowledged it had been an idle thought from the beginning, for a moment he seriously considered how to arrange it.

The next day, Harry and Hermione met to continue work on his signet. She was correct – it had changed when it dried, cracking and shrinking – and now instead of looking like a veiny-eared hare, it looked like a very sinister veiny-eared hare.

"This is ridiculous!" Harry exclaimed, slamming the small bit of clay on the table-top. To his surprise, it didn't shatter, though a corner did chip off.

"What are you doing?" Hermione snatched the signet up before he could try again.

"I'm going to smash the bloody thing to bits!"

"You're going to do no such thing! Look, Harry, it doesn't have to be complicated…lets just make a _simple_ one, and then once we've got everything down, you can go back and spend all the time you want getting it right!"

"Give it over, Hermione."

"I will not!" She pocketed the signet, effectively ending his plans for the total annihilation of the stubborn lump. He took some consolation in the small piece of corner that had flaked off, crushing it to dust, though he did have to use a considerable bit of magic to do it. He'd forgotten that more than one of the spells they'd cast on the signet were toughening charms. In fact, the advanced Runes text that Hermione had dug up went into great detail about the breaking of signets. Harry had just read that section about a half-hour before, and he flipped back a few pages.

"_The breaking of a signet is no small feat, for a variety of reasons. Firstly, the creation process is laced with spells designed to prevent physical and magical damage. From a practical standpoint, this avoids the inconvenience caused by having to create a new signet, a process that could take 30 days and is often accompanied by additional legal or financial costs. _

_Additionally, many of the magical qualities of a sigil are irrevocably lost during the rupture of the actual signet. Though the uniqueness of any rune is a magical quality of the rune itself, and therefore immutable, once the signet, the physical representation of the sigil, has been destroyed, the sigil rune may no longer be placed by any means, magical or mundane._

"_By far, the most common use of a sigil is to mark the work or business of a particular witch or wizard. Thus, the breaking of a signet, traditionally placed in a ring or stamp, also signifies an end to the works accomplished by a wizard or witch. This has led to the fabrication of a variety of seal or ring-breaking ceremonies commonly associated with the death of a witch or wizard, and the breaking of a signet to become almost as symbolic as the snapping of the wand._

"_It is only through the most delicate and complicated of magical procedures that the sigils of notable wizards and witches are reproduced for academia."_

He flipped forward to the page he'd been on before. Perhaps Hermione was right: Something simpler was in order until they'd gotten the spell working and his possessions marked. This time, Harry drew a circle, surrounded by two rings. When he'd gotten done scraping out the edges outside the larger ring and the spot in between the inside ring and the circle, he was left with something that looked like a bull's-eye.

"Cute," Hermione said, obviously un-impressed. Harry shrugged.

"I've been a target forever. I think it's kind of fitting."

"Well, at least it's simple. You'll redo it anyway." Harry understood that she wasn't asking a question.

"So now we just let it sit until after the full moon, which is in…eight days, right?" He knew the answer, since he'd just read it, but Hermione replied anyway.

"Yes, assuming you don't try to crush that one as well. We'll have quite a few spells to cast on it, enough to keep us both busy for an entire day, and then we have to wait for the full moon, and then it's downhill from there. If you hate that one, we'll have to wait for the new moon before we start to make the next," she warned, looking intently at Harry, and then at the smudge on the table, which was actually the remains of the corner that had broken off his first attempt.

"I'm sure it will do fine, for a starter."

"Hm. After we have a signet, there's only the one charm to create the sigil. Then you can mark everything you own."

"Hooray," Harry remarked cheerlessly.

"I know," Hermione scowled, "but you don't have to like it! It's for your own good! Have you looked into some wards?"

"I started already. I remembered the ones that we used at, uh, headquarters. Why, do you have any bright ideas on how to make them better?"

"No, they're probably good enough as they are. They alarm you when someone meddles with your things, then?"

"Yeah. I'd like for them to tell me who set them off, but I suppose that would be a bit difficult, wouldn't it?"

"Very tough," Hermione agreed, "but not impossible. We'd probably be able to figure it out, given enough time." Harry nodded thoughtfully.

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"I was just ah, curious, ah, were you in the Common Room last night?" Harry considered the possible ways he could answer this question truthfully without giving anything away. Then it dawned on him: What did he have to hide? Not a thing! And besides, nothing had really happened anyway.

"Late, you mean?"

"Yes. I heard voices early this morning. It sounded like you and Parvati."

"Did you, uh, look down here?"

"Well, of course, I mean, it's my job, isn't it? I _am_ a prefect! I couldn't find anyone."

"We talked for a little bit," Harry said. "We, er, got things straightened out." Hermione let out a deep breath.

"Then I didn't muddle things hopelessly?"

"Hermione, stop worrying. You didn't mess anything up…she understands why you were upset!" Hermione's eyes narrowed slightly. She tried to sound casual when she asked her next question, but Harry, who'd been put on his guard, knew better.

"What did you tell her, Harry?"

"I told her that you were my best friend and that you felt sad that I'd go to someone else for help." This was, of course, reasonably accurate, to a point.

"Oh. What did she say to that?"

"She understood. I told her that it was just as if Lavender had come to you rather than her. She's not that bad, Hermione."

"_I know_," Hermione snapped. "I'm sorry," she immediately apologized. After a moment of looking as if she had more to say, she shrugged and sat back in her chair.

The following Tuesday, Harry again had Occlumency. He was rather frustrated by his own lack of progress, and in a miniature fit of rage had gone back over _Poking a Stick in the Mind's Eye_ and reread everything he'd already seen. It didn't help him in the slightest. He then had spent at least an hour the night before trying to transition from inundation with mundane thoughts to having no thoughts at all. Connor had shown him a trick with a candle flame which produced mild success in that it helped him relax, but Harry honestly couldn't see himself able to do that in a real situation, when other things were happening.

"Again, Potter." Snape said blandly for at least the fifth time that night. He'd gotten a bit better at stopping the flow of things, once the _Legilimens _spell had been initiated, but that, in his estimation, was about as far as his progress had come. Instead of hissing, snapping, and insulting, Snape seemed to have slipped into more of an apathetic mood lately. Harry realized with disgust that he preferred the old Snape more. For reasons he couldn't explain, Snape's constant barrage of verbal abuse had always hinted that he had some expectations. He made it very clear that Harry should be capable of Occlumency, and that the only reason he, Harry, was failing, was that he, Harry, hadn't been trying hard enough. This new bout of apathy made Harry slightly nervous, because he wondered if Snape had possibly given up on him.

Though he'd never in a million years admit it, he needed Professor Snape to believe it was possible to teach him Occlumency…after all, Snape was the local expert. If he decided that Harry was indeed talent-less, perhaps Harry really was.

Harry shuddered involuntarily at the thought of there being no way to keep Voldemort out of his head. A question forced its way into his mind.

"What, Potter?" Harry jumped in spite of himself. Snape's voice was still soft and laconic.

"Uh, it's just that I was talking to someone who suggested I try self hypnosis to start with. He…er…said it helped him clear his mind when he got upset."

"For the moment we shall ignore that indiscretion. You should be talking to no-one about your training, Potter. I didn't agree to announce to half the school that I'm performing a special service for you, when there are hundreds of others who would be both better at it and more appreciative.

"Hypnosis is chapters twelve and thirteen of your text, so you need not ask me for the particulars. It is a very effective way to combat Legilimency. If you'd bothered reading that far, you'd have learned that the Imperius curse is a form of magical hypnotism. I have been told you can resist the Imperius curse, to some extent, so I don't know if hypnosis will be viable to you. Perhaps you should ask your mysterious _friend_ to assist you." Snape glanced at his fingers, which were splayed out before him on the desk. "We are done here, Potter. For next week, I expect you to have attempted hypnosis, and to demonstrate it to me. If you insist on wasting my time with questions you could have answered with the text, you shall demonstrate that you value my opinion by following it." Harry stood to go, a nasty, sinking feeling deep in his chest.

"Professor?" Harry asked, hesitantly. Snape spun on him, his black eyes flashing murderously. Harry flinched.

"What?"

"Is something, er, wrong?"

"Get out of my office, Potter."

"Hermione, what if I can't do it?" Harry asked, in serious danger of whining.

"What are you talking about, Harry? Of course you can! If you couldn't, Professor Dumbledore wouldn't have made you go see Professor Snape every week! He's not _stupid_!"

"But you didn't hear him today! He'd practically given up on me!"

"I still can't believe you'd care what that slimy git thinks of you anyway," Ron remarked, trying an alternative attack to cheer up his friend.

"I don't know…all I know is that I can't keep on going with _him_ just able to get into my thoughts any time he wants. I mean, it's been better lately, but I've been getting more sleep and…I don't know, what if he's just waiting for the right time? Just like he is out in the…the real world?"

"Harry," Hermione said, taking his hand, "we'll help you, no matter what. I've been through your book at least twice, and I don't think I could do much with it either…it's like Professor Snape asking me to keep up with you on a broom! You can't be blamed be simply because he has a talent you don't!" Harry still grumbled, and that night, he pulled Connor aside.

"Remember when you were telling me about that trick, where you stare into a light?"

"Yeah, did it work?"

"It might," Harry replied, "I'm having problems doing it. I was just wondering...how did you learn it?" Connor stared at Harry a moment before he answered. It was an uncomfortable moment…Harry felt as if he was being read, not by Legilimency, but in the old fashioned way, as if Connor was sizing him up for a fight, or deciding whether he wanted to divulge something particularly sensitive.

"When I was a kid," the American started, leaning on Harry's bureau, "I had some medical problems. We didn't have the kind of money you need to get medicine – it's different in America – and my sister's friend was into a kind of medicine without doctors or drugs. A lot of people thought it was hokey…and maybe it is. I don't know; all I know is that sometimes it worked for me. She showed me how I could put myself into a sort of trance, to calm myself down and straighten things out."

"Could you show me again?" Harry asked, nervously. Though he'd never admit it, even to Hermione and Ron, Snape's attitude was still bothering him. Instead of speaking, Connor summoned a candle from Ron's bureau, and lit it with his wand.

"Sit on your bed, Harry, and get comfortable. Good. Now look into the fire. No, not at it…you can't look at anything and make it work, just look into it. Right, that's better. Now you have to control your breathing…breathe in, one, two…good, now breathe out, one, two, three, four…good. The further you get, the longer it will take you to breath out, you know? When you get to eight or sixteen, then you're pretty calm…then you should start feeling things slipping away."

"And you're sure this will help me clear my mind?" Harry asked again. He felt a bit dubious after so many different failed attempts at the same goal. The familiar relaxing feeling spread through him, but he was still swamped with thoughts.

"It always worked for me," Connor finally said with a shrug.

Harry spent the next half hour trying to clear his mind, but never really got the hang of it. He did make it up to sixteen as he exhaled, and felt extraordinarily calm, but he never stopped thinking of Hermione, Ron, Parvati, his classes, the Order, or any of the other dozen things that constantly occupied his mind.

For a moment, he might have had it, but then Ron spoke off to his left.

"Don't fall asleep with that candle burning, mate."

"Uh, thanks," Harry replied with a start. He was surprised to discover that he couldn't remember the last five minutes, and wondered if he'd actually made some progress, or if he'd just fallen asleep.

"What're you doing, anyway?"

"I'm practicing uh…remedial potions."

"Ah," Ron said, knowingly. "Working for you?"

"I don't know. Better than anything else I've tried. I need to get a candle that won't burn down the castle if fall asleep with it going." Ron chuckled, and Connor spoke from his bed without looking up from his History of Magic text.

"I'll be up for a while, if you want to keep practicing. I'll blow it out if you fall asleep."

Ron glanced at Harry, who shrugged and whispered "he knows I'm trying to clear my mind. This was his idea." Ron nodded, but didn't say anything, and Harry was silently grateful. Ron and the Connor had been getting along well lately, but Harry was always somewhat worried that something would set his friend off. To his credit, Ron had been very understanding the last few weeks. Whether that was because of his Prefect experience, due to Hermione's influence on him, or caused by some outside reason or personal revelation, Harry didn't know, but he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

He looked back to the burning candle, which was quite low by now. He was glad that he'd talked to Connor. The worst case scenario now was that the self-hypnosis idea wouldn't work at all for clearing his mind, but he already knew it relaxed him, and based on his previous experience, that was a plus. Plus, he had the two chapters in his book to read on the subject, and they might help him even more.

There was a faint glimmer of hope shining in Harry's eyes, as his eyelids slid slowly lower and lower, and it looked quite a bit like a candle-flame.

Wednesday night was reserved for the Beginner's D.A. group. There was no real reason to show them wordless magic yet; most of the students in that group couldn't have used it anyway, and most likely they wouldn't have been able to tell the spells simply by their movement, so instead, he worked on one of his favorites: The Patronus Charm. Many of the students were years away from successfully conjuring a patronus, but they all enjoyed attempting it, and seeing Harry's ghostly stag, which was accompanied tonight by Hermione's playful otter, had them in very high spirits. Even Hagrid was guffawing mightily and pointing, and several of the students produced streams of mist, one or two of which looked to be on the verge of taking a form.

The Slytherins, Harry was pleased to note, worked as hard as anyone, perhaps owing to their desire to succeed, or perhaps to the fact that they felt pressured by being their house's only representatives, or their fear of being mistrusted. For whatever reason, their drive equaled anyone else's. Harry had never felt the need to scold them, and hadn't had to keep anyone from picking on them since the third practice, and if he'd missed the silver and green ties and patches, he wouldn't have known anyone from Slytherin was even there.

They progressed well that night, and after D.A. Hermione presented Harry with the clay seal that was the start of his signet. It had dried nicely, and maintained a very circular shape. Harry pronounced it good enough, and Hermione promised to work with him on getting the final charms cast on the signet before the full moon on the twenty-fifth of the month.

Later, as he lay in bed, he managed to drift off while staring into the candle, which was this time on Ron's bureau, since Ron had quite a bit of reading that he'd been putting off. Harry found himself awaking from a near trance, his mind totally blank.

This pleased him, and he slept very well for the second time in a week.

**TEASER ALERT**

The next half page is a teaser from Chapter 15 – When Draco Met Connor. Don't read it, if you're not the type who can handle that sort of thing.

Also, keep in mind I revise continuously. This will, more than likely, end up changed in some way, so don't fall in love with every meticulously crafted detail.

I mean it.

**/TEASER ALERT**

**Chapter 15 – When Draco Met Connor**

The following night, Harry had the more advanced D.A. students, but first he was on a mission. He crept along the fourth-floor corridor under his invisibility cloak as close to Connor as he dared get. Ron was back on the warpath, and to keep peace, Harry had agreed to keep an eye on the big American for an entire day. Earlier, Connor slipped from the Common Room without saying a thing, which he'd been doing all year, for one reason or another. He refused to discus it, and proved to be a very difficult man to follow. Ron wasn't alone in his suspicions; no matter how you looked at the entire situation, something was off, though Harry couldn't quite put his finger on it. Perhaps it was the ease with which Connor mishandled Malfoy.

Ron was volatile, but he was visibly so; it was easy to tell when Ron was close to blowing his top and becoming dangerous. Connor's contrasting silence was unnatural and at times frightening. He was violent without warning, so simply being around him felt vaguely precarious. Perhaps Connor was the type Parvati had been referring to when she and Harry discussed the appeal of dangerous men.

Or, perhaps it was something else entirely. Connor didn't exactly add up; the things that he did and the way that he did them produced a very odd picture when one tried to put them all together: A not-very-talented American wizard coming to Brittan, with only shadowy excuses or downright refusals to explain why was only the start of it. His transfiguration ability was meager, he actually _enjoyed_ History, Potions and Herbology, and he was frighteningly good at perpetrating savage acts of Muggle violence. Perhaps this was normal for American wizards; Harry wasn't an expert, and therefore couldn't say.

For the moment, it looked as if Connor was headed to the owlry, which was also unusual, as he'd never received so much as a single letter. Even that was strange, Harry thought. Didn't Connor have any friends at home? Wouldn't they be worried about him? Before they could get to the owlry, Connor turned off down a lesser used hallway; one the Marauders' Map indicated led to a tall and mostly empty tower. Harry had never been in it, and he had no idea what it was used for or why Connor would be going there. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, he noticed a small dot on the map that was moving towards them: Draco Malfoy.


	15. Chapter 15 When Draco Met Connor

**Author's Note**

Special thanks to DJ-Cam and Rodrigo for posting reviews. You have restored my faith in humanity! DJ is working on his own story, so pop over and check it out. I also read Dolli's (the link is in my reviews…HINT HINT HINT), and it's very, very good.

Also, it's about time I give a thumbs-up to my most-honored-beta, niamhaugurey. Her skills are masterful! I can't thank her enough.

**/Author's Note**

**Chapter 15 – When Draco Met Connor**

The following night, Harry had the more advanced D.A. students, but first he was on a mission. He crept along the fourth-floor corridor under his invisibility cloak as close to Connor as he dared get. Ron was back on the warpath, and to keep peace, Harry had agreed to keep an eye on the big American for an entire day. Earlier, Connor slipped from the Common Room without saying a thing, which he'd been doing all year, for one reason or another. He refused to discuss it, and also proved to be a very difficult man to follow. Ron wasn't alone in his suspicions; no matter how you looked at the entire situation, something was off, though Harry couldn't quite put his finger on it. Perhaps it was the ease with which Connor mishandled Malfoy.

Ron was volatile, but he was visibly so; it was easy to tell when Ron was close to blowing his top and becoming dangerous. Connor's contrasting silence was unnatural and at times frightening. He was violent without warning, so simply being around him felt vaguely precarious. Perhaps Connor was the type Parvati had been referring to when she and Harry discussed the appeal of dangerous men.

Or, perhaps it was something else entirely. Connor didn't exactly add up; the things that he did and the way that he did them produced a very odd picture when one tried to put them all together: A not-very-talented American wizard coming to Brittan, with only shadowy excuses or downright refusals to explain why was only the start of it. His transfiguration ability was meager, he actually _enjoyed_ History, Potions and Herbology, and he was frighteningly good at perpetrating savage acts of muggle violence. Perhaps this was normal for American wizards; Harry wasn't an expert, and therefore couldn't say.

For the moment, it looked as if Connor was headed to the Owlery, which was also unusual, as he'd never received so much as a single letter. Even that was strange, Harry thought. Didn't Connor have any friends at home? Wouldn't they be worried about him? Before they could get to the Owlery, Connor turned off down a lesser used hallway; one the Marauders' Map indicated led to a tall and mostly empty tower. Harry had never been in it, and he had no idea what it was used for or why Connor would be going there. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, he noticed a small dot on the map that was moving towards them: Draco Malfoy.

'_This can't be good,'_ Harry had time to think, before the big American stepped around the corner. Harry was very close behind now, but he wasn't close enough to see everything that happened when Draco met Connor. Draco must have sensed something wrong, because by the time Harry got around the corner, he'd fired off a quick jinx and a few curses, one of which Harry recognized as a particularly nasty stinging curse. Harry found himself silently impressed, and then disgusted that Malfoy had done something that he had briefly admired.

'_Of course he's going to be quick with a hex, you idiot,'_ the annoyingly pervasive voice in his head taunted,_ 'he's only been doing them since he was two!'_

Fast as Malfoy was, Connor positively stunned Harry by pulling off the quickest shield charm he'd ever seen in his life. He could have sworn that Connor didn't even have his wand out in time to deflect the first one, yet there it was, bouncing harmlessly away. What Connor did next was unfortunately less surprising: He grasped Malfoy firmly by the neck, and bounced him off the wall until Malfoy dropped his wand. Connor tossed Draco aside like a sack of dragon dung, and picked up the gleaming black bit of wood.

"_Snap it!"_ Harry almost shouted, before he remembered that he was invisible. Instead of snapping it, Connor took it and calmly walked back towards the stairs to the lower levels, where he hurled it over the edge to tumble off the walls, railings, and steps that descended all the way down to the main floor and the Great Hall.

Harry knew that a fall like that could crack a wand, if it hit just right, so all he could do was hope. He stood there for a bit, watching the glimmering fleck of black bounce and tumble until it was out of sight, before he realized that Connor had vanished. Consulting the map, Harry headed back to where they'd run into Malfoy, only to see the dot marked "Conner Colier" vanish as it rounded a corner.

Harry stopped. This had never happened before; in fact, the map had been the only thing indicating Peter Pettigrew's presence in Hogwarts during his third year, as well as Barty Crouch Jr's at the end of his fourth. There was absolutely no way Connor should have been able to simply disappear completely. Harry ran the rest of the way to the corner where Connor and Malfoy had fought, but all he found was the unconscious sixth-year Slytherin with a lump the size of an egg on the back of his head and a small pool of blood forming below him. Glancing at the wall, Harry could see where a not-very-adequate scouring charm had been applied.

This left him with a decision to make. Connor had been kind to him, watching his back, assisting him with schoolwork, and even repairing Sirius's old motorbike for Hagrid. Malfoy, on the other hand, had been nothing but trouble from the start. Even so, Harry found himself mildly disgusted to realize that he actually felt a tinge of something for Malfoy – not guilt, certainly, or concern – it felt more as if he was disappointed at seeing the results of a long chain of bad decisions. After a bit of deliberation, he _scourgified_ the wall, which totally removed the blood and hairs. He looked around without any kind of plan in his mind, trying to figure out what he was going to do next. Connor was still nowhere on the map, and Harry had to be in the Room of Requirement in less than fifteen minutes, which would be a stretch if he didn't start moving now.

Paying particular attention to where he put his feet, so as not to leave incriminating footprints, Harry lightly stepped around Draco Malfoy's fallen form and hurried off to his meeting.

Thursday's D.A. meeting was nearly as good as Wednesday's. Ron, Harry, Hermione, and Neville had made quite a splash casting spells silently, and for a while, even the better students like Cho Chang and Ernie Macmillan had to work at keeping up with them. They'd only shown the group two spells, but inwardly Harry groaned as he considered how difficult it would be to duel the likes of Hermione, Michael Corner, Padma Patil, or Cho Chang after they had access to spell-casting without an incantation. They were already terrors as it was.

With some surprise, he noticed Connor in the very back, tossing spells back and forth with a blushing seventh-year Hufflepuff girl as if nothing was wrong. Connor wasn't exceptionally good at most magic; his selection of jinxes, curses, and charms wasn't extensive, and the quality of his work varied widely, though Harry had always been somewhat impressed with his defense, and even more so after seeing him deflect Malfoy's curses earlier today.

Harry _really_ didn't want to discuss what he'd seen in the hallway, however; especially given that he just brained someone and walked away as if it had never happened. Granted, it was an admittedly evil person who deserved to be beaten simply on general principles, but still...Harry briefly remembered his first conversation with Connor on the matter.

"You could throw Malfoy off the astronomy tower and I wouldn't care," he'd said. "We're Gryffindors, and we stick together." Now he was stuck wondering if Connor had perhaps taken his words to heart. That wasn't what really bothered him, however, since he could at least understand why someone would want to batter Malfoy. What _really_ made Harry nervous was the fact that Connor had somehow thwarted the Marauder's Map, which suggested to Harry there was probably no-one in the castle capable of keeping proper tabs on the American. Perhaps Lupin would have something to say on the matter, after all, he'd helped design it, and if Lupin couldn't help, Harry would surely have to speak with Dumbledore.

"I don't know, Harry," Remus Lupin finally announced. Harry had wasted no time in contacting him via mirror after the D.A. meeting. "I don't know if it can be fooled by a mere potion or a simple spell. Polymorphed wizards shouldn't behave any differently than you or anyone else, on the map. We had to make it that way, if it was to keep track of your father, Padfoot, Wormtail, and I. Even if he disillusioned himself or turned himself into a table, or even a bird to fly away–are you sure he's not some kind of fast moving animagus–that he didn't manage to get off Hogwarts grounds quickly?"

"I doubt it," Harry firmly replied. "He'd have had to return just as quickly; he was in our D.A. meeting."

"He doesn't have some kind of special invisibility potion, does he?"

"It wouldn't surprise me; he's got loads. I'll have to see if any of them can remove him from the map."

"Well, it's a possibility, I suppose," Remus said with a brooding look on his weary face. "There are spells to make an object or place unplottable…maybe your American has found a potion to do it. You said he was quite bright in that regard?"

Harry shrugged. He didn't like to think that there was anything that could give one the ability to hide from the Marauder's Map, which had been one of his most valuable possessions at Hogwarts. "I don't really know what most of them do," he finally said, "but my invisibility cloak won't fool it, and when Barty Crouch Junior was pretending to be Mad-Eye Moody, Polyjuice Potion didn't fool it, so if he does have a potion that will, it's real doozey."

"You may consider asking Professor Dumbledore in this case, Harry. I'm not sure I like the thought of someone with that particular ability spending time around you: not after what happened a few weeks ago. What if he's responsible for it, or at least involved? What could he have been doing out there in the first place? You say he and Draco have never gotten on; you don't suppose he was there to…" Remus trailed off, looking at Harry through the Mirror.

"I don't think he'd actually _kill _Malfoy…would he?" Harry winced; even to himself that last bit sounded noticeably uncertain.

"Hell of an alibi, if he was going to," Lupin muttered, frowning, "being seen in your defense club at the time. Still, I remember that area from my time in Hogwarts, and it was basically empty even then. It seems to me the chances of Malfoy and your American friend meeting up there are less than coincidental. Are you sure they don't know each-other? Perhaps he was alerted to your presence and had to act quickly, to prevent you from witnessing something you shouldn't?"

"The thought had occurred to me," Harry admitted, thinking of the wax seal he'd nicked from the unintentionally intercepted letter. Though it was certainly a possibility that Connor and Malfoy were working together; in fact it would have been downright crafty of them, Harry was almost certain that they weren't. He would have bet galleons that Connor's intense dislike for Malfoy was genuine. "We'll see," he said at last, for lack of something better to say, "I don't really think he's the type…" Remus nodded.

"Harry, remember that in three days I'll be unavailable. If anything happens then, you need to talk to Dumbledore – perhaps even Snape—as disagreeable as it sounds. I wish I could always be there for you, but…" He paused and Harry looked away.

"I know, Remus. You're there for me as much as you can be, and I know that. Look, I'd better get some rest, and you could use a little too…you know."

Remus nodded and smiled, and Harry was immeasurably happy that it was genuine. He and Remus shared and odd sort of relationship, but the last of his father's best friends really did mean a lot to him.

The next day was long and grueling. Besides all of the intrigue, beatings, sneaking around, D.A. meetings, and secret Occlumency practice, he still had classes to contend with, and Fridays were full days. Transfiguration wasn't as bad as it had been, mostly because they'd all gotten fairly good at eyes and noses, with the exception of Connor, who still had to give it all he had to avoid ending class looking as if he'd consumed a Polyjuice potion made with the hair of a squinting pig. In the end, even he had gotten things straightened out, mostly on his own. He was acting as if nothing was wrong, and the story regarding Malfoy was that he'd been pushed down some stairs. The Slytherins all shared derisive remarks and knowing glares, but nearly everyone else in the castle seemed to be of the opinion that Draco Malfoy had simply gotten what he deserved, and some even questioned whether he'd been attacked at all. Many of the Ravenclaws speculated that he'd simply tripped coming down the tower stairs and made the story up to get someone in trouble. That someone was continuously changing, but Harry had heard them say Malfoy blamed him, Ron, Connor, Neville, or even Hermione, which was absolutely ridiculous, as she'd no more attack him in the hallway than kiss him. The Ravenclaws made sense, and if Harry didn't know better, he could even have imagined things happening just exactly that way.

Unfortunately, he _did_ know better, and while he hadn't talked to Connor about the incident, he was mulling over ways to broach the subject.

Charms class was growing progressively more difficult, but fortunately Hermione was as brilliant as ever, and Harry had also discovered that he really _was_ good at them. It was something he'd inherited from his mother, he supposed. His notes were as complete as he could make them; every week he'd compare with Hermione and Ron to see if there was anything he'd missed, and two months into the term, he'd managed to make a sizable dent in Hermione's magic book. This didn't take into account his textbooks, and the copious scribbling in their margins and underling in various hues. Harry could tell Hermione was genuinely proud of him, while Ron seemed almost sad that he had lost his once rebellious friend to the beast known as Academics. Harry was a bit disgusted himself…any other year he'd have had at least five detentions by now.

On the other hand, things just hadn't seemed right this year. Quidditch felt alright, as did most of the ordinary things that filled their days. Then, eventually, someone's thoughts would drift to the world outside and the desire to stalk about after midnight or dream up new ways to get into the sixth year girls' dormitory sort of fell flat. Harry could tell Dumbledore and the rest of the Hogwarts staff were doing their best to keep some joy in life with the small details, but most of the students knew the score.

Temporalism was long and very difficult. Professor Walken pronounced them proficient at the _Spatium Sinus_ charm, and they moved on to Enlargening Charms, which meant less time with the wands out.

"Don't be so glum," Professor Walken announced, "you'll have your hands full in a few weeks." Most other classes would have seen Harry excited to have his hands full of spell casting, but Temporalism had turned out to be every bit as difficult as they had originally surmised. Harry sighed and pulled out his large tome of notes, along with the viciously heavy text for the class.

They hadn't worked out of it for a few weeks, but every week the Professor assigned them reading, and they were quizzed on each Monday over the material of the previous week. It was very heavily based in causality, which Harry could actually do reasonably well, but it took him a good deal of time, and felt suspiciously like arithmetic, which he'd always had a distaste for, even in his muggle primary school.

Ron, on the other hand, was genuinely gifted. In spite of all the complaining he did, and there was a good deal of it, he proved to be very capable, and often assisted Harry and even Hermione. The magic was a bit tougher for him, but he'd always been impatient when learning new spells, and it was usually a matter of a few minutes with Hermione to set him straight.

Harry knew Ron enjoyed the class, because it was the one place Ron took notes that rivaled his or Hermione's.

"Sod off," Ron had exclaimed when Hermione chanced upon the messy stack of parchment. "I've got to do something to keep up with you two. It's bad enough when there's only you to contend with…now that Harry's decided to show me up I've got to do something!" He was smiling when he said it, though, and Harry knew that Ron was very proud that there was a class in which he could best him and, at times, Hermione. The fact that the class was ridiculously difficult only bolstered his ego.

True to form, as Harry glanced over at Ron, he was busy scribbling away, and making sure he didn't miss a thing.

Muggle Studies, by contrast, was a welcome rest from the rest of the day, which felt far too long already. Harry found himself nodding off on more than one occasion – not to sleep, but into something very much like his candle-induced trance. After he snapped out of the third such incident, he risked a stealthy glance at Parvati, who was sitting with both eyes closed, her hands on her lap. He nudged her with his knee.

"Now, pick out a few friends and let's get some discussion," the Professor said, pacing in front of the class, "and I want to get at least one muggle-born in each group, if that's possible."

Harry leaned reached around Parvati and tapped Lavender on the shoulder. She started groggily and scooted her chair out, facing him. As was their game, Harry surreptitiously reached under the table to jab Parvati in the leg with his quill. Her eyes snapped open at the last instant, and Harry realized too late that he'd been had.

"I've got you!" she whispered, her hand clamping around his wrist like a vice. Harry had to suppress a laugh, and fought to get his hand and quill back.

"What would they say?" she gloated, "the mighty Harry Potter, ambushed by a girl!"

"Let me go!" he whispered, biting his cheeks to avoid smiling maniacally. It wasn't really a fair contest, since Parvati had both hands around his wrist, and he only had the one to fight back with. He couldn't exactly give it his all, either, considering they were supposed to be discussing why turnout was so low in Muggle elections. Even so, Harry really didn't care; he was fighting to lose anyway.

He'd just managed to get hold of one of Parvati's wrists and was pulling her towards him, chair and all, when a voice over his should caused them both to let go so fast that Parvati nearly flipped backwards off her chair, and would have, had Lavender been any further away.

"Oof!" Lavender exclaimed from beneath her friend, her arms waving comically.

"Is there a problem?" The professor asked, pausing to assess the situation.

"No problem," Parvati said brightly, scooting off Lavender's lap and back onto her own chair. "Harry simply misplaced his quill, and I was handing it to him…see?" She snatched the quill from his hand before he could do anything about it, holding it triumphantly in the air.

"Really," said the professor softly, with the hint of a smirk, "because it looked more like you misplaced your leg, and Mister Potter found it, hiding under his hand. You know, it's all fun and games until someone gets their eye poked out with a quill!" Some of the nearby students tittered in amusement. Parvati continued to smile radiantly, and Harry really didn't feel too embarrassed at all. No Slytherin would be caught dead in Muggle Studies, so there was no usual suspect ready to pester him, and he generally got on well with everyone in this class, with the exception of Marietta and one or two of her friends, who ignored him completely.

"Oh don't worry about that," Parvati announced, "I've go no eyes in that general vicinity, thankfully enough!" Harry performed kind of a gasp and laugh at the same time, and had he been drinking anything, he knew it would have come out his nose.

"Fortunate indeed!" the professor agreed cheerfully. "One point for each misplaced part; that's five fingers and a leg, for six points. And let's keep the public displays of affection…well…not-so-public, hmm?" Lavender had momentarily gotten her breath back, but was now laughing so hard she had to be restrained from falling out of her chair. Behind them Ernie was snorting into his closed fist. Parvati wrinkled her nose.

"Damn!" she whispered, so softly that Harry hardly heard her.

"Language, Miss Patil," the professor said in a sing-song voice while turning away with a crooked smile. With the greatest of difficulty, they managed to make it through the rest of the class without causing any more fiascos. As they filed from the classroom, Harry fell into step between Parvati and Lavender – which was a dangerous place indeed for those who weren't keen on being inundated with all manner of rumors, allegations, and foolish conversations.

"Well, that could have gone worse," he said, looking at Parvati, who giggled. Harry's cheeks hurt from first biting them, and then smiling so much that he eventually wondered if one's head could actually come unzipped at the mouth. He'd finally given in and allowed himself to wear a ridiculous grin that even now ached.

Lavender laughed from his other side. "Why is it I sleep through that class and come out even more tired than when I went in?" She glanced casually at Harry, who noticed it right away. He fidgeted a little, having come to thoroughly respect the girls of Gryffindor. More specifically, he'd come to respect the fact that girls _never stopped scheming_. Hufflepuff girls were generally far too nice to hurt you, and Ravenclaws were too crafty to worry about; Harry suspected they'd get what they wanted from you before you even knew they wanted it. Slytherin girls generally left him alone, but he guessed they would use you however they wanted, so at least you knew what to expect.

Gryffindor girls were a whole different story. Gryffindor girls, being braver than most, were to be treated with extreme caution, because even though you may not know exactly _what_ they were planning up, you could rest assured that you would eventually find out, and that it would very likely be in spectacular fashion. The bravest of the brave weren't likely to leave untested plans lying around.

"So, Harry," Lavender drawled casually, "given any more thought to the you-know-what?"

"Uh, well, yeah, a little, maybe." He stole a peek at Parvati, but since she'd been smiling all afternoon, it was a fruitless gesture.

"Annnnd?" she said, drawing out the word expectantly.

"And I can't really talk about it without N-"

"Without Neville here; yes, yes. I knew you'd say that! Sometimes you're a right pain in…"

"Eeee!" Parvati cried, covering her ears, and then imitating their Muggle Studies professor; "language, Miss Brown!"

"Well, what about Neville, have you asked him?"

"The silly dear won't say a thing about it," she pouted. She thrust out her lower lip, and Harry felt an overwhelming urge to kiss it. He shook his head quickly to clear that right out of his mind, and the next thing he knew, they were standing just inside the Common Room, gazing on the chaos of a typical Friday afternoon.

"Oi!" Ron yelled, from the other side of the Common Room. Hermione slapped him lightly, scolding him for making such a racket, and with a pat on the back for both Lavender and Parvati, Harry leapt a couch and landed in one of the superbly comfortable chairs, right in front of his friend.

"I've found the cure for my remedial potions problem," he announced. "It appears that I can be bored into a total stupor faster than anything."

"Well, that's great then, isn't it," Ron replied with a grin. "Now if you could just talk Binns into following you around, next time you need a hand, he can start lecturing to you about the seventh goblin rebellion, or the great niffler round-up. Ought to put you right out of your misery."

"Ron," Hermione said seriously, "don't be silly. There hasn't been a seventh goblin rebellion _or_ a 'great niffler round-up'!"

"…Yet!" Ron replied smugly, and they all laughed.

Harry was still in a very good mood when he left to make his weekly meeting with Professor Shacklebolt, which was good, because Kingsley was not at all cheerful when he arrived.

"Bloody idiotic ministry…" he was mumbling to himself as Harry entered. He immediately stopped and forced a smile in Harry's direction.

"Hello, Mister Potter. Ready for some defense?"

"I sure am," Harry replied, trying to force himself to sound more positive. Perhaps it would cheer Kingsley up.

"To be honest with you, Harry, I didn't have much time to plan for today. There are some…things going on."

"With the Ministry, sir?" Kingsley sighed and took a long look at Harry. For the second time in as many days, Harry felt as if he was being sized-up.

"It's a lot of politics, Harry; you probably wouldn't be interested."

"Yeah, uh, probably not. Does it have something to do with Voldemort?"

"These days, what doesn't?" Kingsley snorted. He was silent for almost a minute, and then he waved at Harry to sit down.

"There are rumbles at the ministry," Kingsley said as he paged through some of the books covering his gigantic desk one after the other. "There are rumors that a vote of 'No Confidence' is in the works for Fudge." Kingsley paused, looking directly at Harry with his hands still buried in his various texts. "Do you know what the means?"

"Yes!" Announced Harry with a grin. "It means they're going to sack his lazy…"

"Yes, yes, that's it," Kingsley interrupted, "and it's probably a good thing on the whole…it's just that it presents a few problems." Kingsley sighed again, and Harry noticed for the first time today how tired his Defense professor looked. Professor Shacklebolt was pallid, and pitch-black smudges lined his eyes. "We're just going to run into some problems – I don't know that it's a great time to do this. They should have done it last year when Fudge and Delores were making asses of themselves on a daily basis. Now we're going to have to move away from the status quo."

"But I thought we wanted him out?"

"We do, and I expect Diggory, or Bones, or whoever they throw in there can't help but do better; but really, Fudge has already screwed things up as much as he can, hasn't he? Can hardly get worse now, can it?" Before Harry could answer, Professor Shacklebolt continued. "I mean, unless he just handed over the Ministry, but he couldn't do that…he's a power-hungry git, but he's not a traitor." Kingsley sighed again. "Regardless, we're going to have a transitional period that will very likely muck things up. For all I know, I could get called back to the MOM."

"Why would you get called back?"

"I never resigned my commission, remember? I'm here because Dumbledore strong-armed Fudge after the…ah..."

"After the fight at the Ministry."

"Yes. Can't very much turn down the bloke who owns your soul when he asks for a favor, can you? And Dumbledore did own Fudge after that night; robe, ring, and wand. After the gutless dupe had been insisting publicly that you and the Headmaster were batty, well, maybe they'll sack him in the next few weeks, but I promise you the moment he stumbled into the fight at the MOM is when he realized what it was like to see his career all over."

"So you think it'll be Mister Diggory or Madame Bones?"

Kingsley snorted again. "We can only hope. It's hard to say at a time like this; all sorts of fringe come out of the woodwork to throw their wands onto the strip, and people don't think straight. Look at what Barty Crouch did during the last war; tossing people in Azkaban left and right, authorizing those curses…why, there were some Aurors who were so heavy-handed that they were very likely guilty of nearly every infraction we pinned on the Death Eaters and their supporters." Kingsley paused, and tapped the table, as if something had just occurred to him. "And there's your book again. Think about what _it_ would say regarding the not-very-judicious use of Unforgivables to apprehend an admittedly evil wizard. Why, that's like murdering a murderer, just to show him you can do it and he can't!"

Harry had been listening attentively, going along with Professor Shacklebolt partially because it all made sense, the way he explained it, but also because he'd never even seen his professor worked up, and he figured that anything that had riled the Auror was probably worth hearing. When Kingsley got to 'murdering a murderer', however, Harry's first thought was of the prophecy…kill or be killed. The warm feeling he'd had all day slipped from him like a cloak as his mind once again latched onto the fact that he was going to have to vanquish Voldemort, or Voldemort was going to kill him. He'd been doing the D.A. and carrying on with his classes as if it was a normal year, worrying about Quidditch and women. Was Occlumency going to help him when he had to face Voldemort again? Would half-decent charms that any competent seventh-year knew really make a difference? How could he fight Voldemort and win when even Dumbledore hadn't? The prophecy only said that he had the power to vanquish the Dark Lord, and that one or the other had to die; it didn't say that no one else could defeat Voldemort. Maybe if Harry died there was still hope? Professor Shacklebolt must have noticed the look on his face.

"I'm sorry, Harry. Did I say something wrong?"

"No…I was just thinking is all."

"About this mess at the ministry? May as well not worry yourself about that," Professor Shacklebolt shrugged and started digging through the books on his desk again. "There's nothing you can do about it."

"No," Harry said, "just thinking about uh, Voldemort." Kingsley gazed at him evenly with a faintly curious look in his eyes. "I mean, how can _anyone_ expect to be good enough to fight him?" Kingsley stayed silent for a while. His eyes flickered back to his desk, and Harry momentarily wondered what the Auror was looking for.

"Harry, Voldemort is just a wizard. A mean one, an evil one, certainly a smart one, but that doesn't mean that he's invulnerable. I'm sure a stick to the back of his head would take the wind out of his sails, the same as any other." The professor's eyes lit on something near the top corner of his desk, and he pulled a small stack of books from beneath a pile of parchment. "Along those lines, we're going to be stepping things up a bit." He thrust the books into Harry's hands. "Listen, Harry, Dumbledore got me here, and chances are very good that the next minister will be _one of ours_, but if that doesn't happen, you need to study these books. For now I'm supposed to give them to you, just in case they do summon me back, but in the event that they don't, you may want to look into allocating a little more time to our meetings. The ministry can't spare enough Aurors to send them over here, and you've got to stay at Hogwarts for a good many reasons."

Harry looked at the books. "_Who to Shoot First: A Practical Guide to Threat Assessment_" seemed explanatory enough. "_Kicking Them When They're Down_" apparently dealt with what to do with fallen opponents during and after a fight. "_The Enviroment, Your Partner_" and "_Crouch Before Counter_" following those up was the fifth and by far largest book, simply entitled "_Manual 7I3 – Appendix of Defensive Magic_". A quick look through it revealed counter-spells of every type, neatly categorized. The spell histories and particulars found in his school texts were absent on the manual's large, crisp pages.

"And here," said Professor Shacklebolt, dropping another stack of books on the table, "are the books I am _not under any circumstances _to give to you." Harry's lips moved slightly as he read the sparse titles on the industrial-looking texts.

"_Manual 901 – Controlled Jinxes, Curses, and Hexes"_, "_Manual 908 – Restricted Jinxes, Curses, and Hexes"_, "_Manual 909 – Controlled Use of Force_", and "_Manual 911 – Restricted Use of Deadly Force_". They were, on the whole, not your standard sixth-year fare.

He looked at his Professor in awe.

"Harry, it has become obvious to me, and it should be equally obvious to anyone who pays attention, that you are a lightning-rod. It is unfair to ask you to bear this burden without proper tools. Even now, I feel guilty for not being able to do more, and I didn't even put you in this situation."

"But…isn't this illegal, I mean, isn't it illegal to learn these?" Harry waved the manuals of restricted and controlled spells.

"To learn them? Not at all. To perform them…mostly, yes. I will, of course, provide you with all the training I can legally provide…that is, if you're interested."

"Of course I'm interested!"

"Well, then. Perhaps we should keep things short tonight, because they'll get busy next week. I'll need you to perform at the top of your ability, Harry; time is growing short for both of us. Do you have a secure place to store these?"

"Ron and I have just put wards on my trunk and bureau," Harry said, looking through the stack again. Kingsley considered this.

"Nothing that locks securely?"

"Well, my trunk locks, but it's been broken into before." Harry was thinking specifically of the mess he'd encountered when Ginny ransacked his locker during the second year, while looking for Tom Riddle's diary.

"Hmm. I don't want you taking them all until you've got a good, secure place to put them. Next week, I'll bring a few supply manuals, and we'll look at getting you something proper. For today take the first stack, and have a look at threat assessment and Manual 713; they can't get you in much trouble if you're caught with them. These are standard Auror texts, in case you didn't know, so if anyone asks you, just tell them you're getting a start on your studies. You and I are the only ones who know about this conversation, so keep it to yourself, if you can. I suppose if they ask, you can tell Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall, and I imagine you'll let something go to Lupin. I'll keep the others here, and if I'm forced to leave Hogwarts, I'll either bring them to your dormitory and give them to you myself, or wrap them and give them to Professor McGonagall as your Christmas gift. Sorry to ruin the surprise," Kingsley said, with the hint of a smile on his normally unreadable face.

"I think it's a great gift," Harry said, truthfully, "I don't mind at all. What about Hermione and Ron?"

"I'm not foolish enough to imagine you'll keep anything from them. I would ask that you keep it from your other friend, if at all possible."

"Neville?" Harry asked.

"Hmm? Oh, Mister Longbottom…no, I meant the American, Colier. Can I ask you something frankly, Harry?" Professor Shacklebolt leaned over the desk and locked eyes. His gaze was piercing and very magnetic, and Harry couldn't look away. Harry nodded slowly. "Do you trust Mister Colier?"

Harry deliberated very seriously before he answered. "Well, mostly. I mean, I don't think he's here to hurt _me_, if that's what you mean."

"It's not, really. Do you know what I do at the ministry?"

"You're an Auror!" Harry said, as if it was a very foolish question. Kingsley took a very deep breath.

"Yes, yes I am, but do you know what I actually do with my time?"

"You track down fugitives," Harry said, remembering that he'd once heard the Order discussing how Kingsley was in charge for the search for Sirius, after his Godfather had escaped from Azkaban.

"That's right, and at the risk of blowing my own horn, I'd say I'm very good at it. I don't know Mister Colier's situation, other than Dumbledore is in some way involved, as is Professor Walken. Even so, he's a fugitive if I've ever met one. He shows typical traits – hyper-sensitivity to his surroundings, a tendency to be a loner, a habit of actively attempting to remain average, a lack of communication with the outside world – I don't know what he's running from, but for your sake, it may be best if you're not there when it finds him. I've seen better wizards, but I've rarely seen cooler heads; he doesn't seem the sort to scare easily."

Harry nodded. He'd already decided not to mention the incident with Malfoy, though Kingsley was making it harder. Now that his Defense professor had brought it up, Harry thought Connor fit the description of a fugitive perfectly. He'd never thought of the American like that, even after Dumbledore mentioned that Connor was forced to flee. The idea that someone or something may be actively hunting down Harry's newest acquaintance hadn't readily presented itself until now, and Harry didn't like it one bit. Kingsley dismissed him with a wave, and Harry left with a lot on his mind.

**Author's Note**

As a little token of my appreciation, I present a pair of teasers from **Chapter 16 – Idle Persuits**. It's roughly 20 pages now, but I'm aiming to have it cut down to between 10-15 pages and posted inside of 2 weeks.

**/Author's Note**

After their meal that night, Headmaster Dumbledore cleared his voice until the Great Hall quieted down.

"Attention, attention! I have an announcement to make!" When every head was turned expectantly toward him, he paused, as if he was having second thoughts about interrupting their meal. "Sometimes, in the course of our duties, we are forced to do things we'd rather not. We have discovered evidence that suggests certain students have been abusing their time spent in Hogsmeade. I am left with no other alternative than to cancel the remainder of the Hogsmeade visits." There was an immediate roar throughout the hall, from disbelief to indignant cries of protest.

"_Enough!_" the headmaster boomed. Instantly, the room fell silent. "Many of you—most of you—have a good reason to be angry. Your time, your freedom, and your liberties have been taken from you. If you have been impacted in no other way by the return of Lord Voldemort, and the ridiculous views of ignorant people, then you have at long last suffered because of their decisions. Some of you, on the other hand, are the reasons we have been forced into such an unsavory position. You should be ashamed of yourselves. I ask you all to look around; look at your friends, your acquaintances, those people you know and who know you, and understand that no action is without its consequences. It is not for me to tell you what is right and what is wrong; it is for me to tell you how to determine the difference.

"The time is quickly approaching when you will have to decide, if you have not already. The opportunities present themselves every moment of every day."

Parvati was on the top of the Astronomy Tower, leaning against one of the huge merlons, gazing to the north-west and taking notes in a small journal. The only other people on the tower were a pair of Hufflepuffs who looked thoroughly interested in each-other; though one did flash Harry a thumbs-up as he made his way to Parvati's side.

"Not bad out, for a clear night," she said lightly as he approached.

"Not at all," Harry agreed, and since he'd taken the precaution of casting a warming charm before he exited the castle, it was especially true. "So, what do you see?"

"Mars."

"War," Harry replied.

"Conflict," Parvati corrected. She looked off in another direction. "Venus."

"Love? Love and war…er…conflict. That doesn't make much sense."

"The future is nebulous, Harry." It was something Professor Trelawny might have said, but instead of sounding melodramatic and chintzy, Parvati sounded wistful; almost sad. "You'd know all about that, what with the prophecy and all." Harry could tell she was smiling, even though her face was hidden as she looked to the sky.

"So, do you believe in prophecies then?"

"Oh, of course."

"Really?" Harry pressed.

"Our minds are terribly powerful things…who's to say they don't pick a few things up along the line?" Harry remained silent. "That's not to say that I believe _most_ prophecies, because I don't."

"Really?"

"Really," she announced certainly. "You have to admit, an awful lot of prophecies seem to be at the most self-fulfilling, or at the very least, an educated guess by someone who's somehow picked up a little more than the rest of us. Maybe diviners are _really_ just very good at putting together all the pieces."

"Could be," Harry admitted, "I hadn't really given it that much thought."

"No? What about the prophecy about you? There really is one, isn't there?" This time, Parvati turned and looked directly at Harry, awaiting his answer. She looked as if she already knew.

"Yeah. There is." Harry kept a very keen eye on her, and she smiled pensively again.

"You're the kind of guy these things happen to."

"I'd be happier if I wasn't."

"Perhaps." She gazed at Harry for a while, and he wanted to look away, but he couldn't. Her eyes shone in the starlight, and Harry felt even warmer than the charm could account for. Then she looked back to the sky.

"Funny, how it has to get dark before we can see things clearly, sometimes."

See you in two weeks!

Pat McClellan


	16. Chapter 16 Idle Persuits

**author's note**

Well, here it is; the long-awaited chapter 16. It's a little later than the two weeks I'd thought though, and I apologize for that. I went on a song-writing binge.

DJ-cam – Thanks for your review, and I hope you've put some thought into your story and what you're going to do with it.

Rodrigo – I appreciate the kind words. Here's 16, to go along with 15, which I hope you liked as much as 1-14.

Flame – you may have noticed I stuck with the original three characters as best I could. You may have also noticed that JKR has a habit of introducing at least one new major character each book. My ultimate goal has always been to use JKR's characters whenever possible, in any way, whatsoever. So why is there an American? Simple…I needed a character to fill out an idea, and I'm American. I don't know British culture, but I DO know American culture. There is a reason the character is there, it's not just some foreign exchange thing that is pawned off to throw in a vicarious personality. Perhaps you should drop me a line and let me read some of your work, since you were so kind to voice a legitimate complaint. I'm not being sarcastic, it just makes me sad you think you'd have to hide to say something a lot of people in the community complain about in general.

Malenkka – thanks, I hope you continue to read. If you can't be constructive, feel free to be mean. I can take it!

Matt – here's more, and I hope it's not too late to draw you back into the story.

Dolli – nice to see you back! I'm glad you liked that scene, since I could see her doing that as well. She reminds me very much of McGonagall in that respect. Some times, I see people write her off as a stand-in to be aggravating and totally neurotic. I was happy that she inadvertently turned out to be pretty central to a lot of ideas I'd come out. I didn't plan it that way, but it was nice.

Tryoku16 – well, I made you wait, and for that transgression I sincerely apologize. If you email me back with your email address, I can email some other stuff to you. I replied to your review, but I don't know if you got it. I'm not sure exactly how this site handles that.

As always, thanks for reading, thanks to Leia for the betaing, even though she's extremely busy, and thanks for any feedback you feel gracious enough to throw my way.

Patrick McClellan

**/author's note**

Chapter 16 – Idle Pursuits 

Harry went directly to the Great Hall, where most of the Gryffindors were already starting to tuck in.

"Ih oo eh erering aien ou?" Ron said, through an impossibly large mouthful of food. Hermione gave him a revolted look and Ginny rolled her eyes.

"What?"

"I said," repeated Ron, swallowing with visible effort, "did you get everything straightened out?"

"With who?" Harry said, glancing involuntarily down the table at Parvati, who was dabbing at something on her robe.

"Well, you just came from Professor Shacklebolt's room, didn't you?"

"Oh. Yeah, we talked. He's given me some books to look over."

"More books?" said Ron, as if that was the last thing he wanted.

"Well, yea," Harry replied, looking around and dropping his voice, "real Auror's manuals, just like I would get if I was actually doing the training."

"Uh, Harry," Ginny said, toying distractedly with her food, "I don't know if you realized this, but you basically _are_ doing the training."

"Well, some of it, yeah, but now I've got, uh, the _rest_ of it." He tried to make it sound meaningful, but only Hermione appeared to have caught on.

"What 'rest of it' would that be?" she inquired sweetly. Harry looked around again, in case anyone was paying more attention than they should. Deciding it was safe for now, he leaned over the table where they could all hear him if he whispered.

"Look," he opened his bag, and Hermione and Ron peered inside. After a moment, Hermione reached in and pushed the books to the side, so she could see what they all were. She paused when she saw _Manual 713_, and then let out a small sigh of relief.

"Not bad," she said, "for a moment I thought you were talking about the 900 manuals."

"900 manuals?" asked Ron.

"Oh, I've got some of those too. He wants to hang onto them until I have a safe place to put them."

"He gave you _some_?" Harry had rarely seen Hermione shocked. "More than one? 900 manuals?"

"What's a 900 manual?" Ron repeated.

"Yeah," Harry said, surprised that Hermione knew anything about them. He'd never heard of them before, and he was the one looking to become an Auror.

"What's-"

"In a minute, Ron!" Hermione snapped. "Are you sure you want to get involved with that, Harry?"

"If people are going to be using them on me, I want to know what they are. Besides, you've seen what happens when we can't keep people out of a fight."

Hermione didn't answer right away. Instead, she looked to Ginny, and then to Ron, both of whom had very confused looks on their faces. Ron was waiting patiently, but both Harry and Hermione could see that he was only containing himself with the greatest of efforts. With a sigh, Hermione answered his question. "The 900 manuals are the standard Auror texts that deal with jinxes, hexes, and curses; specifically with how to do them."

"Whoa," Ron said, with a huge lopsided grin splitting his pale and freckled face. "You mean Professor Shacklebolt just _gave_ you a load of books on curses?"

"Shh!" Both Harry and Hermione hissed.

"He told me I'm a lightning rod," Harry said, setting his bag by his feet.

"Well, _that much_ is true, anyway." Hermione sighed again. "It's not that I'm mad that he gave them to you…it's just…I don't like to think of you having to use them. I know you'll have to."

"Oi!" a voice called from down the table, "what are you lot talking about, all secret-like?" They all looked down to see Dean and Seamus laughing.

"Books!" Harry said, smiling. "Why? Are you writing a story?"

"I ought to," Seamus said, "I could write about you, Harry. They'd sell like kettle cakes! Imagine it – _Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone_, no, better yet, _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets!_ Dean could do them up for me!"

"Don't worry, Harry," Dean quipped, "I'll make you prettier, and Ron as well. That'd be a touch difficult though, in fact, I might have to replace Ron entirely…I could see a tall, dark, and handsome chap instead."

"Here!" Ginny cried, grinning madly.

"You're supposed to be on _my _side!" Ron complained to his little sister.

"Who'd want to read that," Harry said, trying to look disgusted and failing. He laughed in spite of himself.

"For once, I agree with Saint Potter…who'd want to read that rubbish?" Harry and Ron spun to see Malfoy leaning against the table between Ginny and very surprised-looking Dean Thomas.

In his hurry to rise, Ron knocked Ginny's goblet of pumpkin juice into her lap. She shrieked, and Malfoy frowned. "You really _must_ have cheated on the pitch; you're as clumsy as you are stupid." He turned to Ginny. "What's the matter, Weasel? Ruin your jumper? I'd offer to reimburse you but I'm afraid I haven't got anything smaller than a sickle on me." He was probably going to continue, but a quick glance around convinced him that a hasty retreat was in order. Dean, Connor, Seamus, and Ron were all within a short distance. Malfoy immediately stopped talking and backed away as quickly as he could. Although it looked for a moment as if the Gryffindor bench was going to clear, he managed to escape unharmed.

"That filthy little ferret is going to get what's coming to him real soon," Ron said, looking from his sister to Malfoy.

"I'm up for anything, if you need it," Dean said with a frown deeper than Harry had ever seen on him before. It was uncharacteristic for him, and didn't look right on his face.

"Me too," Ginny added.

"Are you talking about 'Operation Ferret'?" Harry whispered, once things had quieted down.

"I've almost got it arranged, mate. I've almost got it. It's…good. That arrogant prat is going to regret knowing us!"

"I'm pretty sure he already does," Harry replied.

The next morning, they had an early practice, which was almost entirely un-productive. Everyone seemed lackadaisical, and even Katie seemed too tired to fight the trend. Her barking and chiding had been only half-hearted, and they called it a day almost a half-hour early. Harry didn't see how the extra half-hour would do him any good, anyway, since his broom was still pulling left on him, which really messed with his sense of control. There was no way he'd be able to ride it in a match; he'd collide with someone or something at high speed, and that would be the end of him. Perhaps Voldemort was behind the incident after all, and it was just an elaborate plan to get Harry to run into the stands or another player. Harry pondered that while he attempted to stay in formation for one of the gimmick plays Katie had been working on. It hadn't been easy, and the whole team's flying had been sloppy.

He spoke to Natalie McDonald about his broom on the way to the clubhouse.

"Oh, yeah," she said, after he'd mentioned how he'd nearly cracked his knee on a scoring ring half-way through the practice. "Well, you'd better leave your broom with me then."

"What?"

"Hermione didn't tell you? She's going to help me repair it."

"It must have slipped her mind," he said, knowing that the idea of anything slipping Hermione's mind was nearly unthinkable. "Yeah, that's great, actually, because it's really distracting to let go and all of a sudden find yourself drifting off course. How'd you talk her into it?"

"I really don't know," the lithe chaser replied, "I just told her what I thought was wrong with it, and what I thought I'd need to do to fix it." Harry nodded, and reluctantly offered her his broom. It wasn't that he didn't trust her, but it was his most cherished gift from Sirius, and he truly wanted to keep it forever. He couldn't imagine how he'd feel if the Whomping Willow got a hold of _another_ one of his brooms.

"Don't worry," Natalie said, as if she saw the worry in his eyes. "I'll be extra-super-careful!" She smiled warmly, which made Harry feel a little more at ease. As he'd gotten to know her better, Harry discovered that Natalie was the kind of person who said exactly what she meant, and didn't make idle promises.

"I know you will," he replied. With trembling hands, he relinquished the Firebolt with a brief but powerful pang of loss.

After their meal that night, Headmaster Dumbledore cleared his voice until the Great Hall quieted down.

"Attention, attention! I have an announcement!" When every head was turned expectantly toward him, he paused, as if he was having second thoughts about interrupting their meal. "Sometimes, in the course of our duties, we are forced to do things we'd rather not. We have discovered evidence that suggests certain students have been abusing their time spent in Hogsmeade. Therefore, I am left with no other alternative than to cancel the remainder of the Hogsmeade visits." There was an immediate roar throughout the hall, from disbelief to indignant cries of protest.

"_Enough!_" the headmaster boomed. Instantly, the room fell silent. "Many of you—most of you—have a good reason to be angry. Your time, your freedom, and your liberties have been taken from you. If you have been impacted in no other way by the return of Lord Voldemort and the ridiculous views of ignorant people, then you have at long last suffered because of their decisions. Some of you, on the other hand, are the reasons we have been forced into such an unsavory position. You should be ashamed of yourselves. I ask you all to look around; look at your friends, your acquaintances, those people you know and who know you, and understand that no action is without its consequences. It is not for me to tell you what is right and what is wrong; it is for me to teach you how to determine the difference.

"The time is quickly approaching when you will have to decide, if you have not already. These opportunities present themselves every moment of every day.

"Now, to illustrate the futility of those attempting to disrupt our everyday lives, I have another announcement. After consulting with several students, we have decided to offer a special treat. On the night of Christmas Eve, we shall have a party for all students third-year and below, and a ball for all students fourth year and above."

If the outcry in the Great Hall over the Hogsmeade weekends was tumultuous, the roar that greeted their ears at the mention of another Yule Ball was nearly chaotic. The squeals of support, generally higher-pitched and very feminine, were counter-balanced by the generally masculine moans of disbelief. Harry was stunned into silence, though that didn't seem to be the case with Ron, who turned immediately to Hermione.

"D'you-wanna-go-to-the-ball-with-me-then?" he blurted out, without breathing or looking away. Hermione, who appeared to be in a rare state of shock, managed a very genuine-looking smile.

"Well, let me think about it overnight?" It was obvious to both Ron and Harry that she was joking, and they both laughed, though for Harry's part, it was rather forced.

"That is all for tonight," Headmaster Dumbledore announced, "though I rather suspect it's quite enough for one day, by any measure. Your time is, once again, your own."

As the crowds rose from every house table, Harry noticed the topic of discussion couldn't go in any other direction, and by the time they made their way back to the Gryffindor Common Room, Harry was thoroughly on edge. The entire house was deep in discussions over the eligibility of various witches and wizards, over whether those who were already regarded couples would attend together, and of the various odds over said couples breaking up in time to make one or both parties available. Harry entrenched himself solidly on one of the squashy sofas and drifted into a state of semi-consciousness while staring into the fire. He kept an ear to the conversation, but for the most part reviled in his self-pity.

"…to the ball, Harry?" Harry started, and glanced up to see Emer Rath looking down at him with her keen black eyes.

"I'm sorry?" He said, a gnawing feeling growing in the pit of his stomach. Emer laughed shamelessly.

"Are. You. Going. To the ball?"

"Oh," he replied slowly, "I dunno, I mean, probably, I've asked someone, but they're not really my thing."

"Not your thing? You don't like socially acceptable excuses for holding women?"

"Women frighten me, frankly."

"Don't admit that, Harry, or half your charm will go up in flames!" She winked, and Harry smiled in spite of himself. His mind wandered back to the conversation he'd had with Parvati.

"So who's the lucky girl?" Emer asked. She was trying her best to look innocent but Harry was fairly certain he knew what she was up to.

"I, uh, shouldn't say anything until she says 'yes'; you know how it is."

"Oh, of course!" Emer winked and turned away, making a beeline straight for Seamus.

"Right," Ron said from the side of his mouth. "There's no way you've asked anyone anything. You've been next to me, doing _remedial potions_ all night!"

"I know," Harry replied.

"So, when _are_ you going to ask her?" Harry didn't even bother to pretend he didn't know who Ron was talking about. They both glanced surreptitiously at Parvati and Lavender. Neville and Connor were chatting them up, and all four were laughing loudly.

"Mate, you don't need me to tell you what to do, but she's bloody gorgeous, and if you don't get on it fast…"

"I know, I know. Someone else will."

"Well, as long as you know that," Ron said quietly. "She really is…"

"Yes Ron, _I get it_. You're not helping." They both sat in silence for a few minutes before Harry spoke again. "I'm sorry…it's just…hard, you know? I mean, I'm sure you and Hermione just kind of naturally happened, or whatever, but I'm totally lost here."

"Anything I can do?"

"Not unless you can explain women to me, or deal with dark wizards."

"Dark wizards, maybe. Women…you're on your own." Ron flashed Harry a tremendous and goofy grin, and Harry once again found himself smiling.

"I don't suppose feeling bad's going to solve either problem, is it?"

"Hasn't worked for me yet," Ron replied, "and believe me, I've tried."

"She is gorgeous, isn't she?" Harry mused.

"Top notch," his friend replied candidly.

It took a good deal longer than usual for the Common Room to quiet down, thanks primarily to Professor Dumbledore's dinner-time bombshell. Many students remained clumped together and exchanging whispers far later than usual, and Harry slipped in and out of his self-induced trance whenever the opportunities arose. He was getting good at maintaining some awareness of what was going on around him while lost within the haze of his own clear mind, though he was starting to suspect that he'd never be able to do it and remain fully functional. For one, it played havoc with his reflexes, which in his opinion were part of his greatest strengths.

Even so, the quality of his rest had improved markedly, and Harry thought for that reason alone, the skill had been worth the effort. It did, on occasion, cause him to blank out for short periods of time, which was how he missed Parvati slipping out of the Gryffindor Common Room.

Lavender was sitting on one of the larger chairs, wedged in next to a very sleepy-looking Neville Longbottom. Connor looked to be asleep; sprawled out lazily on a sofa with three girls piled around him, and Ron and Hermione were playing a game of chess. Various other Gryffindors were scattered about the cozy room, and Harry's first thought upon coming to his senses was that it looked as if a classroom had thrown up, and the students had simply remained where they had fallen.

He briefly considered running up to his dormitory to check the Map, but he was certain he knew where Parvati was without it. After scanning the room through his nearly-closed eyelids, he grasped the handle of his wand in his finger-tips and mouthed the incantation for a disillusionment charm. He arose carefully and made his way through the Common Room without stepping on anyone or being looked at directly, and slipped through the portrait hole.

"And where do you think you're going, young man?" Harry jumped. He'd been hoping the Fat Lady would sleep through his nocturnal foray. Puzzle pieces fell together in his head, and he spoke before he realized his mouth was open.

"I'm going to ask a girl to the ball…a very beautiful, very smart, very kind girl…do you think I have a chance? I mean, do I look alright? And you haven't heard anything, well, _really bad_ about me, have you?" He did his best to look pathetic and sad.

"Oh!" She looked momentarily confused. "Well, then…ah…of course I do! Why, you're one of the best young men I know; that's what I always tell Violet! And you look fine…devilishly handsome!"

"Wish me luck then?"

"Of course! _Good luck,_ my boy!" The fat lady leaned forward and whispered loudly, "Not like you'll need it, I'm sure!"

"You're too sweet!" Harry replied, smiling what he hoped was a winsome smile, while turning to go. "Oh," he paused, "you will keep this…you know…between you and me?"

"Wouldn't _dream_ of telling anyone else! My lips are sealed!" She pinched her rather large lips together and made a show of not being able to open her mouth, and Harry continued on his way, quite proud of himself.

Parvati was on the top of the Astronomy Tower, leaning against one of the huge merlons, gazing to the north-west and taking notes in a small journal. The only other people on the tower were a pair of Hufflepuffs who looked thoroughly interested in each-other; though one did flash Harry a thumbs-up as he made his way to Parvati's side.

"Not bad out, for a clear night," she said lightly as he approached.

"Not at all," Harry agreed, and since he'd taken the precaution of casting a warming charm before he exited the castle, it was especially true. "So, what do you see?"

"Mars."

"War," Harry replied.

"Conflict," Parvati corrected. She looked off in another direction. "Venus."

"Love? Love and war…er…conflict. That doesn't make much sense."

"The future is nebulous, Harry." It was something Professor Trelawny might have said, but instead of sounding melodramatic and chintzy, Parvati sounded wistful; almost sad. "You'd know all about that, what with the prophecy and all." Harry could tell she was smiling, even though her face was hidden as she looked to the sky.

"So, do you believe in prophecies then?"

"Oh, of course."

"Really?" Harry pressed.

"Our minds are terribly powerful things…who's to say they don't pick a few things up along the line?" Harry remained silent. "That's not to say that I believe _most_ prophecies, because I don't."

"Really?"

"Really," she announced certainly. "You have to admit, an awful lot of prophecies seem to be at the most self-fulfilling, or at the very least, an educated guess by someone who's somehow picked up a little more than the rest of us. Maybe diviners are _really_ just very good at putting together all the pieces."

"Could be," Harry admitted, "I hadn't really given it that much thought."

"No? What about the prophecy about you? There really is one, isn't there?" This time, Parvati turned and looked directly at Harry, awaiting his answer. She looked as if she already knew.

"Yeah. There is." Harry kept a very keen eye on her, and she smiled pensively again.

"You're the kind of guy these things happen to."

"I'd be happier if I wasn't."

"Perhaps." She gazed at Harry for a while, and he wanted to look away, but he couldn't. Her eyes shone in the starlight, and Harry felt even warmer than the charm could account for. Then she looked back to the sky.

"Funny, how it has to get dark before we can see things clearly, sometimes."

"Parvati?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"I was wondering, well, the thing is, there's this ball, you know?"

"_This ball_? The Yule Ball, you mean!"

"Yeah, of course. Anyhow, I was wondering; would you like to go to the Yule Ball with me?"

"I seem to remember us doing this before. I don't particularly fancy being left to fend for my self for the second time by the same person."

"I won't do that," Harry insisted, "I promise. It could be like a Muggle Studies class, only we're allowed to talk."

"And dance."

"Of course!"

"And you'll be there with me, lusting after Hermione? I know how you feel about her, Harry, we've had that discussion."

"That's the thing," Harry said, "You were absolutely right. I mean, we've never dated. We've never really kissed. And it's obvious that we'll stay friends whether…well, no matter what. I can live with that, that's good enough for me."

"So what would you say if she came in here right now and asked you to the Yule Ball?"

"Well first of all, Ron asked her about two seconds after the Headmaster announced it, so I doubt that's going to happen, and if it did, I'd say maybe. Unless you said yes first, in which case I'd say that I was going with you."

"Good answer," she admitted. "Harry, don't get me wrong…I just don't want to end up sitting by myself again, hoping that someone will notice me. It sounds petty, I know, with everything else going on…"

"No!" Harry exclaimed, "not at all." He stared dumbly at Parvati; talking to her was getting easier, but at times, he was still at a loss for words. With a blink, he realized that they'd been staring at each other for a long time now.

"Knut for your thoughts?"

"I'd like to dance with you," Harry said without thinking. Parvati smiled, and this time, she certainly blushed.

"It's getting rather late," she said at last, "we should probably go back to the Common Room."

"Uh, yeah," Harry said, somewhat dazed. He snapped out of the stupor he was in long enough to notice that sometime during their conversation, they'd clasped hands, and now Parvati was very close to him indeed. In fact, he could just feel her brushing against him, and when she spoke, her breath was warm on his chin.

The voice in his head returned long enough to warn him that if he shook Parvati's hand this time, things would get very, very bad. Before he could lose his nerve, Harry slid his hands up Parvati's arms and rested them on her shoulders. He pulled her forward with his fingertips and kissed her lips. After several moments, they broke apart, and it was all Harry could do not to look away. He could feel his face growing hot as he was almost certainly blushing madly, and he could feel Parvati's hot breath flowing over his neck and cheek.

It wasn't a long kiss, or a short kiss; it wasn't passion-filled or empty. There were no fireworks, but his chest did ache fiercely, though he wasn't exactly sure if that had been on account of the kiss or the cold night air.

What he did know was that he had kissed a girl, she had kissed him back, and no-one had cried before, during, or after; and that made it a very good time, in his book.

"We really need to be getting back," she said, "we're dangerously close to what everyone thinks we're up to. Harry pondered that as they turned to go. He left one arm around Parvati's shoulders. She casually draped an arm around his waist, and he tried to think about something else as they passed the two Hufflepuffs, who were by now very interested in each other. The one that had flipped Harry the thumbs-up earlier managed a tiny wave, which was no small feat; Harry was left wondering how he'd managed to get his hand free so quickly. Perhaps he'd used magic?

"We're going to have problems with the Fat Lady, I just know it," Parvati whispered.

"Why?"

"A boy and a girl, coming back at…" she pulled Harry's hand from her shoulder, yanking him tightly against her, and read the luminescent face of his watch. "…at two in the morning? She's not going to let an opportunity like that go by."

Harry was just starting to grow worried himself—He pictured the look on Hermione's face when the two of them came in together—but when they reached the Fat Lady, instead of scolding or teasing them, she looked Parvati up and down, with an acutely appraising eye.

"Spot on!" she said, nodding slightly with a proud look on her face. "My, but you _are_ a handsome couple! Password, dears?"

"Constant Vigilance," Parvati said, with an odd look on her face. As the portrait opened and they stepped through, Harry could have sworn the Fat Lady winked, and that there were tears in her eyes.

The next several days flew by, and before Harry knew it, it was time for his Tuesday D.A. meeting. He spent most of his time trying to convince them that their best chance was to run away. He was sure they believed him, but all the same, they looked mostly disappointed at the prospect of having to run away. By far the worst were the Gryffindors, who felt that running away was an insult. The Slytherins and Ravenclaws at least understood the value of the strategic withdrawing.

"Alright," Harry said, glancing to Ron, Neville, and Cho, who were three of the faster wands in the advanced D.A. group. "It's apparent you don't get this part, so we're going to arrange a demonstration. _Sigile!_" The marking spell was one that Harry had picked up while studying sigils. A glob of deep red paint streaked from the tip of his wand and smacked Dennis Creevey on the chest. "You can counter that with a simple _Protego._ Care to take your chances against the four of us?" A moment observing the students told him the answer. He turned to his friends, who all nodded back at him. "All right then: the four of us against all of you. Use any spells you know to try to stop us, but don't hurt anyone. If you're tagged, sit down." He paused, making sure that his instructions sunk in. "Ready?"

Harry took a page out of Connor's book and shot a stream of small butterflies into the middle of the room, which elicited laughs from quite a few students. A few weren't distracted, and managed to fire off a variety of hexes and jinxes, which Harry's group countered or dodged easily, and in the first barrage, nearly a dozen D.A. members were covered in red and blue marks. Several moments later, there were three students left standing, and they were frozen in place, staring down four rock-steady wands.

"Get the picture?" Ron said. Harry considered it a lesson well-spent.

"Ready, Harry?" Hermione and Harry were sitting at their table with an array of books sitting open before them. The sounds of the common room were filtered out by the silencing charm that surrounded them, and it worked both ways. No one in the Common Room would hear a word from their table. Eavesdroppers were everywhere, after all, even among their friends.

"Do you have the sigil, Harry."

"Yes, Hermione."

"Do you have the book?"

"Yes, Hermione."

"And you've brought something to test them on?"

"_Yes_, Hermione." Hermione flashed Harry a dirty look. "I'm sorry. It's just a pain even having to bother with this." Hermione eyed the bit of clay in Harry's hand.

"I hate that your sigil is a target."

"Well, join the club. I hate being a target." Hermione sighed noisily.

"I guess now we see if we did it right." Harry knew that changing the topic was a good idea, unless he wanted to get into a row.

"You're the only one who can do it," she replied. She twirled her wand in the air in a movement that was familiar to Harry after hours of studying the various charms and runes texts. Harry had done it himself at least a hundred times; even leaving a trail of sparks to highlight any possible mistakes. The motion ended with him tapping the small hunk of nearly-indestructible clay. The incantation was long and mostly forgettable, which was fine, since Harry wouldn't use it again unless he made a new signet. Nothing happened. He looked nervously to Hermione, who clearly had been expecting something more.

"I don't understand it! We did everything right! I know we did! I'll have to…" Harry cut her off, taking the lump and tapping the inside cover of the book they'd used to take notes on the process.

"_Sigillum!_" A blue ring pulsed outward from the signet and hovered briefly over the book, where it then sunk into the paper, glimmered, and vanished. Harry gritted his teeth and looked to Hermione, who had a hopeful smile tugging at her cheeks.

"Remember, we added the subtlety charm to the signet. You're the only one who can trigger the sigil." She said, quietly, leaning over the book. Harry nodded and took a deep breath, and then tapped the spot where the rune had vanished with his wand. A twinkling blue bull's-eye appeared on the page, shining faintly in the dim light. Harry lifted his wand and the rune vanished.

"Your turn," Harry said, quietly. Hermione reached out hesitantly, holding her wand over the spot where the sigil lay hidden. Then she tapped the spot, and then tried again several more times, attempting to force the rune to show itself with various detection spells.

None worked. It was the biggest smile he'd seen on Hermione's face in a while. "Now Harry; you have to put this on _all _of your things! No exceptions! And you have to do it soon…I can't stomach the though of someone trying to pass you something that could be cursed, or another port-key, or worse!"

"I promise, Hermione. I'll spend all day tomorrow at it, if I have to."

As it turned out, Harry did spend most of the next day putting sigils on everything he owned, in between classes.

"Bloody socks…bloody shirts…bloody ties…"

Ron looked on with amusement, and when Seamus and Dean had been through earlier, they knew better than to even ask. Ron had helped Harry place wards on his chest, bed, and bureau, and he'd gotten a rough account of the tedium Harry and Hermione had gone through creating the signet, so he knew the lengths to which Hermione and Harry had gone to achieve the spell.

"Bloody brilliant, if you ask me."

"Yeah, it's fantastic. Hand me those books, will you?" Ron lifted the stack with a grunt and placed it on the floor by Harry's bed. Harry didn't even glance at them, as he was currently occupied with his robes.

"New dress robes too, then," Ron remarked casually. Harry stopped what he was doing, with his new, emerald green dress robes in his hands.

"Oh, no," Harry murmured.

"What?" Ron suddenly looked worried. "Those are yours, aren't they?

Harry looked at his friend.

"Can you dance?"

"Not a lick."

"And Hermione doesn't mind?"

"_Of course_ she minds. I've been trying to learn from Ginny, but it's hard, you know? I feel weird trying to dance with her."

"I wonder if she'd help me," Harry mused aloud.

"I, er…I probably wouldn't recommend that, as my duty to you, as your mate, and her big brother."

"Why?"

"It's _Ginny,_ mate! Granted, she's a little more grown up now, but you're still you and she's still her…and she's known you almost as long as me. You're tough to ditch, you know?"

"Why, Ronald," Harry batted his eyes and gazed endearingly at his friend, "I never knew you cared!"

"Shove off, prat!" Ron flung a handful of Harry's own socks while guffawing loudly. It was the kind of laugh that Harry was happy to hear.

"So Ginny's out. Who then?"

"What about Hermione?" Ron suggested.

"I, uh, would feel weird, learning to dance with your date, you know?"

"Oh, come on!"

"I know," Harry paused. He wasn't brave enough to admit to one of his best friends that he had seriously fancied the other, and on some level, still did. Ron had just taken a very big step…normally he was as jealous as anyone Harry knew. "It's just, it would feel funny, you know?"

"Can you ask Parvati?" One look from Harry answered that suggestion. "What about someone else…Lavender, maybe? You seem to get on well with her."

"Nah. She's alright, but I need to find someone outside of this whole mess. She'll be trying to pry information out of me all night."

"Well, that might be fun, but whatever you say." Ron and Harry both glanced up as Dean shot into the room and dove over his bed, landing on the floor and pulling his bed cloths over him, which made a surprisingly effective bit of camouflage. Before he pulled a pillow over his head, he coughed several times, flashed them a knowing look, and then held his finger over his mouth and very softly whispered:

"_Shhhhh!_"

"Where is he?" Seamus Finnegan skidded to a stop just inside the boys' dormitory.

"What?" Harry managed to look innocent and surprised, and he was aided by the fact that Seamus was a brilliantly glowing purple and seemed to have sprouted curling horns, pointed ears, and what looked like a white tuft of a tail. He had skidded because his legs had been transfigured into those of a goat, complete with shaggy tufts above resplendently violet hooves.

"What the bloody hell happened to you?" Ron exclaimed. One glance at his friend convinced Harry that Ron wasn't totally ignorant of the situation.

"Oh, like _you_ have to ask…it's was your brothers that came up with this, and don't be telling me otherwise!" Seamus's eyes widened suddenly. "_M-a-a-aaa._"

There was a stunned silence. _'Did Seamus just bleat like a goat?'_ though Harry. From the corner of his eye, he thought that he saw the pile of bedclothes covering Dean shaking slightly. He was either laughing or suppressing another coughing fit. Seamus clopped another few steps into the room.

"Damn it, Weasley!" He glanced around. "You're _sure_ he didn't come in here?" Seamus squinted at Harry carefully, and Harry found himself thinking Dean had a bit of luck that it wasn't Ron under Seamus's scrutiny. Even without looking directly at his friend, Harry was now certain Ron knew what was going on. The only thing that saved Harry was that he was just as clueless as Seamus.

"I don't even know who you're looking for," Harry finally said.

"Dean! Dean Thomas! My _friend_ Dean Thomas, who turned me into a big…purple…goat boy!" Seamus screwed his face up, and could finally contain it no longer. "M-A-A-AA! _Damn it!_" He took one last, long glance around the room, and then spun on his hooves and clopped back down the stairs, cursing loudly.

They waited several moments, until at last Harry said, "I think it's safe, now."

Slowly, Dean emerged from his temporary cocoon.

"So," Harry began, "mind explaining that?" He looked from Ron to Dean, who were both trying very hard to appear as innocent as possible, and failing miserably. "Oh, don't give me some line. I know just as well as Seamus that Fred and George are somehow involved, and that means _you_," he pointed at Ron, "and I don't think _anyone_ would run in here like you did unless he was guilty of something. Besides, I saw you laughing."

"That was bloody brilliant!" Ron exclaimed, grinning widely at Dean.

"You're telling me! And the purple, well, that was a surprise, but I think I enjoyed it!"

"So you are in on it together," Harry proclaimed smugly. "Go on then, spill it."

"Would you believe 'Satyr Sweets'?" Ron moved to dig something from the battered chest at the foot of his bed, and tossed Harry a small candy in sparkling cellophane with tiny goats wandering over the package. One, which looked to be in the process of eating the corner of the wrapping, looked up at Harry and moved its lips in a silent blat. Harry smiled as he thought of Seamus, somewhere in the building, making noises like a billy-goat.

"You'd better be prepared for writing Fred and George; they'll want to know how things went as soon as possible."

"He wasn't exactly supposed to turn purple, was he?" Dean was now looking at his own Satyr Sweet.

"Dunno," Ron replied. "I mean, you can understand being turned into a satyr, but being turned purple? That's just weird." Dean nodded sagely, and then cast an eye on Harry's tremendously messy bed, stacked with books, cloths, papers, and everything he had as Hogwarts.

"What are you two doing up here anyway?"

"Talking about the dance," Ron replied, digging through a small box he'd liberated from his locker.

"What, about who you're taking?"

"Naw," Ron said. "We're trying to decide who can help Harry learn to dance." Harry gave Ron a dirty look, and Ron shrugged his shoulders. "What? It's not like Dean can't help. Maybe he knows someone who could give you a lesson or two."

"You'd think there'd be scads of women looking to dance with you, Harry. Why not just pick out the prettiest? That's what I did…whoa, whoa now!" Ron was glaring menacingly at Dean, who'd backed up. "Calm down Ron! All's I said was that she was the prettiest!" Dean backed away, but his protests were cut off by another spell of coughing. "C'mon, you can't fault a bloke for noticing!"

"It's my little sis you're going on about, mate! Not some…hussy! And watch where you're spraying. I don't much care for your grippe."

"You know her," Dean shot back. "Really think she'd hang around with me if I wasn't good to her?" This seemed to pacify Ron temporarily. "Anyway," Dean continued, "it's not like you can't just ask Connor, is it?"

"What?" both Harry and Ron asked at once.

"Connor! He's some kind of dancer, isn't he?"

Harry felt like an idiot. One of the first conversations he and Connor had was about dancing.

"You're a genius." Harry pronounced. Dean grinned widely, and held out a hand.

"Candy, Harry?"

"Not on your life. I'm sweet enough."


	17. Chapter 17 Do You Waltz?

**Chapter 17 – Do You Waltz?**

"You want what?" Harry wasn't sure that he'd heard Hermione correctly.

"Could I borrow your mother's pendant? Oh, never mind…I know it's very important to you."

"Yeah, it is. What do you want it for?" Somewhere, the small advisor in his head warned him that he was being rude, but Hermione was letting him off.

"Well, you see, Ron gave me this one," she slid her own necklace with its elegant sapphire and setting from the neck of her robes. "I was just thinking that perhaps I might like to make one of my own, but…well, I'm having a bit of trouble." Hermione let her own necklace drop back into her robes, which was entirely too distracting. "Never mind, I understand, Harry; I really do. I'll get it figured out." She'd already turned to go when Harry stopped her.

"Wait!" He had his mother's pendant off and was reaching out before Hermione could turn around. "You're right, I mean, it is important…but it's you. Who can I trust, if not you?" The smile on Hermione's face as she took the pendant was nearly heartbreaking, and Harry silently cursed the world. Sometimes, it stunk to be sixteen.

"Thank you! I've done a whole handful; I know I'm so close!"

"Just so you make me one, when you get it figured out." Harry grinned in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. She smiled again, and he thought briefly of Parvati's words on the parapets of the Astronomy Tower.

"Yeah, well, anyway, I didn't mean to put you off."

"I _totally_ understand," she repeated, looking at Lily Potter's creation with obvious respect. She moved as if to hug him, then thought better of it, and simply placed a hand on his shoulder, for which Harry was very grateful.

The next night, Harry found himself in another grueling Occlumency practice session.

"Defend yourself, Potter!" Professor Snape commanded, glaring at Harry, who returned the look as best he could. He'd come prepared today; he'd cleared his mind well before he'd ever come down to Snape's dungeon, and he was set to try something new. The customary football scores and plays played through his head; Harry regarded it as something of a warm-up, and traditional by now. From there he glared at Snape, and more specifically, at the gleaming reflection of the low hanging chandelier that shone in the Professor's glassy, black eyes.

He'd first tested his new method of Occlumency on Hermione, staring into her dark eyes in the flickering light of the common room until she noticed.

"What?" she asked. Harry remained silent, gazing through the glimmering reflection of the fire.

"Is something wrong?" Again, Harry ignored her, and she did him a favor by continuing to look directly at him. Eventually, she attempted to return to her reading, but Harry didn't stop, now in a tranquil state with a nearly blank mind. There was a thought somewhere far in the back of his head, something he couldn't identify, and within another few moments, even that vanished. The twinkling light danced, and Harry drifted further and further towards extinguishing every thing currently happening in his head. He had discovered several very important aspects of his form of self-hypnosis, but the most important in his book was the affect it had on his sleep; Harry hadn't slept so well in several years, and that alone was worth the time he'd devoted. Also, it did seem to help with his sessions with Snape. Unfortunately, he still hadn't figured out how to manage it along with anything that required any kind of concentration.

"Harry?" Finally, Hermione carefully shut the book she'd been working on. He heard her, but continued to focus on clearing his mind.

"Honestly! I know it's for the greater good, and all, but that's just plain creepy." She fled the common room, and Harry later congratulated himself for finally perfecting an Occlumency technique.

Snape's barely-moving lips brought Harry back to reality, though he hadn't been daydreaming or remembering anything so much as he'd simply shut his mind down for the duration of the exercise. Suddenly, a searing pain shot through his chest.

"I said 'defend yourself', not 'clear your mind', Potter. How is it you are still incapable of following simple instructions after _six years_ in this school?" Harry rubbed his side, finally realizing that Snape had just hexed him.

"_Defend yourself_ does not mean 'ignore everything around you', Potter, unless you want to get yourself killed." The potions master grinned evilly. "If that is to be your goal, I assure you I would be most pleased in assisting you. You seem to have nearly infinite talent, in that regard."

"No sir." Harry knew better than to goad Snape on.

"Then perhaps you should at least pretend to make an effort. Now, _defend yourself!_"

The rest of Harry's lesson was an abject failure. He was totally incapable of producing more than a rudimentary defense against Snape's magical attacks, and didn't fare much better when it came to the actual mental attack. He left the lesson disheartened, the supremely satisfied look of smug content that Snape had been wearing burned into his memory far too persistently for his liking.

"S'no wonder Snape was unhinged," Ron said when Harry got back.

"Someone filched his wand and replaced it with a double." Ginny grinned malevolently but waited for Harry to urge her on. He obliged, desperate to hear anything about Snape getting pranked.

"I'm guessing it wasn't really just a fake wand."

"Oh, it wasn't," Ginny said. "The first time he tried to use it; it turned into this nasty smelly fish...it was horrid."

"How would you know it was the first time?" Hermione asked casually. Ginny just grinned and looked away in response.

It was fortunate indeed that Ron and Hermione were in a very good mood, and upon his return, took it among themselves to cheer him up. Ron introduced Harry to several of the Weasley Brothers' newest inventions, and for once, Hermione seemed content to let it go. She even laughed when Dennis Creevy sprouted long glider-like paddles from his fingertips and started floating around the common room. Fortunately for Dennis, he was only a few feet off the ground when the concoction wore off.

What really made the night bearable happened just before Harry was about to give up on the day and go to bed. He was asleep in his customary spot on the couch when he awoke groggily with the realization that Parvati hadn't yet come through. He thought for a moment that it may not be late enough, because it appeared that Hermione had fallen asleep next to him, where they'd been sitting when he'd drifted off. Hermione was very particular about people sleeping in the common room, and it occurred to Harry that this was a good occasion to serve her up some of her own medicine, but when his eyes finally adjusted to the darkness, he stopped. It wasn't Hermione next to him at all, but Parvati. She was breathing so silently that for a moment, Harry wondered if she was breathing at all. On the other side of her, Lavender was curled into a ball, with her head on the arm-rest of the sofa, and her mouth slightly open. She was snoring so softly that, had it been anyone next to her but Parvati, Harry probably wouldn't have even heard.

Harry couldn't think of a thing to say, so instead of working at it, he leaned back and closed his eyes. Parvati wasn't exactly all over him, but she wasn't off by herself either. He'd fallen asleep on the right side of the sofa, with his left hand at his side. He could feel the warmth of her leg against his arm and the back of his hand, but didn't dare move it, since he didn't want her to move at all. He leaned his head back against the high back of the sofa and closed his eyes, enjoying the faint smell of Parvati's perfume, which mingled interestingly with the lingering trace of sulfur and who-knew-what-else that the Weasley brothers' creations had left afloat in the common room.

Suddenly, he was aware of footsteps echoing through the common room. Harry had fallen asleep in the common room enough to know the routine the prefects followed. Hearing one now was nothing new.

He wasn't sure exactly when he'd fallen asleep, or when he'd awoke to find Parvati next to him. He wasn't sure how much time had passed between when he'd realized it was her and not Hermione and now. He wasn't certain who was about to appear from the girls' dormitories, though he strongly suspected he knew who it was. What he was certain of was Parvati's arm around him, or at least behind him, and her body slumped against his. Summoning every bit of his willpower, he managed to stay relaxed. Parvati's hand was moving discretely between his back and the cushion of the sofa, and it was all Harry could do not to squirm. It felt very, very good. As the stealthy footsteps grew closer, the hand dipped out from behind him for just a second, and then slid back to where it was; only now he could feel the solid form of a wand slipping upwards across his back. Parvati slid her hand up to his shoulder, and let the wand lie along the back of his arm, out of sight to anyone in front of them, but readily available in an instant. Harry found his respect for her was growing by the moment.

Fortunately, he'd fallen asleep with his glasses on, and if he opened his eyes just a crack and peeked through the fringe of his eyelashes, he could just see the instantly recognizable form of Hermione. She was silhouetted in the final glow of the dying fire; a glow that would not have even been visible had the room not been devoid of any other light. She paused, taking in the sight before her, and Harry would have given ten galleons to know what was on her mind at that very moment. Finally she moved forward, and he readied himself to act the part of someone who'd been deep in sleep and hastily awoken.

Instead, Hermione leaned over Parvati's left shoulder and whispered in her ear, a whisper that was betrayed by the absolute silence of the common room.

"Parvati? Come on now, you have to get up…come on."

"Ohhhh?" Parvati paused sleepily, and then snuggled closer to Harry, which made it harder than ever to remain calm. "Lemme be…"

Harry knew that his pretending had probably never fooled Hermione in his entire life, and had he not known for a fact that Parvati was awake and totally aware, he'd have sworn to anyone who would listen that she was as deep in dreams as anyone ever got. In Harry's mind, she deserved an award.

"You can't stay here," Hermione whispered. "It'll be morning soon." There was a long pause, and Harry could almost feel Parvati craftily counting off the seconds.

"It's too early. Give me just a little while."

"Come on, now, you know you can't be down here when people start showing up." Parvati snuggled closer to Harry, and he began to have very difficult time concentrating. Almost automatically, he slipped into an Occlumency exercise, and it seemed to help some. Overall; he wasn't sure if he _wanted_ to clear his mind. It felt good, he decided, to be used as a cushion.

"That's _ages_ away," Parvati said quietly. Hermione deftly switched gears.

"Think of what they'll say about Harry. _I_ don't really have a problem with you…two…but think of what some other people might say. You of all people should know how dreadfully people can misuse gossip." There was a very long silence before Parvati replied. There was no longer any trace of sleep in her voice; she'd either given up pretending, or figured it was safe to be awake now.

"It's not fair," she whispered. "To Harry, I mean; it's not fair he's held to higher standards than everyone else."

"I know," Hermione replied.

"He's not even able to turn around without someone talking about it."

"I know," Hermione said again.

"And they're never going to leave him alone."

"I know," Hermione sighed one last time, and extended a hand. Harry couldn't actually see Parvati without tilting his head, but he could feel her every move, as she was now quite firmly ensconced against him. He could feel her stretching up, and then the barest flash of heat on his neck as she kissed him. He found himself wishing that he'd slouched over at some point, so she could have managed his lips, but thrust the though to the back of his mind. It was something to be savored at a time when he wasn't doing his best to fool his best friend and a girl who he was starting to feel very strongly could be much, much more.

From through the veil of his eyelashes, Harry could feel more than see Parvati take Hermione's hand, and then he was alone.

"Lavender," Hermione whispered.

"You're wasting your time there," Parvati said quietly. Harry couldn't see them anymore, and he was straining to hear every detail. "Come on, grab a hand." There was a pause, two nearly silent grunts of exertion, and then the three girls passed in front of Harry.

"She'll do anything in her sleep," whispered Parvati to Hermione. "Thank goodness no one knows about _that_, or we'd have boys lined up from here to Liverpool trying to find a way up those stairs."

"Mmmmkay…" a sleepy Lavender murmured, following obediently. When he was quite certain they were gone, Harry shuffled up to his waiting bed and smiled to himself as he slipped into a deep and refreshing sleep, and when he awoke later that morning, the smile was still there.

The next day was a Saturday, and it was highlighted by a very tight Quidditch match between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. Next to Harry, Hermione poured over notes, only occasionally looking up at the action when it became apparent through Owen Cauldwell's manic announcing that something really big was about to happen. She was using the quill he'd found her, and looked to be transferring notes from a nearly packed journal to one of her books.

"Only Hermione would take notes during a Quidditch match," Ron said, poking the book without tearing his eyes away. Up until then, Harry would have sworn that Ron didn't notice, but apparently he wasn't totally oblivious. Hermione shot Ron a half-hearted glare, and Harry took the opportunity to glance over her shoulder at the tightly packed writing and carefully sketched diagrams.

"Wolvesbane potion? What's that for?" Hermione turned from Ron to Harry, opening her mouth as if she was about to speak, but nothing came out.

"_Wolvesbane potion_," Ron echoed, finally looking at them. "What gives, Hermione? What're you up to? Do you know something we don't?"

Hermione diverted her attention back to Ron. "Hardly," she said, after a second. "This is my potions project."

Ron shook his head. "Potions assignments during a Quidditch match…what's this world come to?"

"You don't understand how much work is involved," Hermione replied wearily.

"Harry's in it; and you don't see him wasting a perfectly good day!"

Harry had to agree, but he wasn't about to ruin _his_ perfectly good day by saying so. Hermione seemed about to continue when she realized that neither boy was paying her further attention, and turned back to her notes with a muffled "hrumph!"

She had been right about one thing: Voldemort's recent silence had an anesthetic quality on the entire school, and many students found themselves almost deliriously happy with the slightest provocation.

Provocations were in high supply, since apparently Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes was dedicated to producing an unstable aura of amusement at what had just happened to your friends, and anticipation as to exactly when and where it was going to get back to you.

Harry mulled things over in his head, as he subconsciously scouted both teams, judging their flying, their Quaffle handling, their defense, and the hundred other things he'd managed to pick up on over the years. The two teams managed to match each other goal for goal, until Cho Chang made what Harry considered one of her finest catches while Ravenclaw was ahead by one, to win the match three hundred to one hundred forty. The stands were evenly divided, since this year looked to have one of the most heavily contested Quidditch Cups in recent history. With Slytherin and Gryffindor both losing a serious amount of talent, the cup looked to be up for grabs and within reach of everyone.

Yet in spite of the almost festive occasion, Harry Potter had something on his mind. It was frightening, but he knew he had to do it, and he had to do it soon. Deep down inside, he knew that the longer he put it off, the less prepared he would be, and the more other people would suffer. Harry Potter had to learn how to dance.

He awoke early the next morning with a start. Something very faint was tickling his nostrils. His wand was under his pillow, so he stealthily cast a silencing charm on the area around his bed and sat up as slowly as he could, peeking from the tiny crack in his curtains. Unfortunately, his spectacles were still on the bureau top next to his bed, and he was hard-pressed to make out a thing.

Harry took a deep breath, and pounced from the bed, bashing his head quite severely on the frame from which the curtains hung, which created a personal and surprisingly vibrant display of fireworks. Unlike the rest of the world, they were perfectly in focus. Harry stumbled forward and dropped to his knees. Across from him, Ron's head poked out from between his bed curtains.

"Are you okay," he asked quietly, trying not to wake up the rest of the room.

"Yeah," Harry managed to mumble, though his voice sounded as if it was echoing back to him from somewhere far away.

"Right," Ron whispered, uncertainly. "You've probably gotten yourself another concussion. What's gotten into you, mate?"

"I thought I smelled something burning, near my chest of drawers."

"Oh, really?" Ron hopped from his bed, being overly careful to give the curtain-fame a wide birth, to Harry's annoyance. They stood side-by-side, looking at the top of Harry's bureau. With the tip of his wand, Harry nudged his stack of Chocolate Frog Cards to the side. Beneath it, fresh words were inscribed, the scarred wood nearly glowing white in the bright early morning sun. Harry ran his fingertips over them as Ron bolted to Connor's bed, standing before the curtains and carefully prying them apart with the tip of his wand, as if he didn't want to get too close.

"Still warm," Harry said.

"Empty," Ron replied. He and Harry dashed to the windows, which commanded a fair view of two sides of the castle. Far off, near the edge of the forbidden forest, four tiny figures ran. One was large, and the other three tiny. Two of the smaller runners were golden haired, and one looked as though her head might actually be trailing flames. It didn't take a great deal of intellect to determine who they were.

"I suppose that rules them out," Harry said, after an awkward silence.

"This time," Ron added. Harry shook his head, but didn't say anything. He had quite a bit of work to accomplish today, and he didn't want to start it off wrong.

After a leisurely morning meal, he returned to the common room with one of Hermione's special books. It was the one he'd used to copy the volumes the original Marauders had created in their quest to become animagi, and he was hoping to discover a potion or two which would meet the requirements for his year-long project. Though he was loathe to admit it, Hermione had been right the day before: Time would only grow more scarce, and though there were many things with which he could procrastinate, potions was not one of them. By noon, he had narrowed down his possible candidates to a binding potion and a stabilizing potion. As he was mulling them over, Hermione plopped down beside him, cradling several large books in her arms.

"What do you think, Hermione?" She peered at his notes.

"Hmm…The stabilizing potion would be significantly harder to properly test. It looks as if the binding potion would be somewhat harder to make, but at least you'll know if you're doing it right." She paused, squinting at the notes. "Something's missing, though."

"What do you mean? This came straight from Lupin."

"I don't doubt that, but still…if you make it like this," she tapped the book softly and trailed off.

"What do you suppose it's missing?"

"I couldn't tell you…It looks as if there's a step missing here, you see?" Hermione pointed to the list of procedures near the end. Harry didn't notice anything wrong, but then, he wasn't half of what Hermione was when it came to potions. "I'll have to think about it, but I'm nearly certain it's incomplete. Perhaps you should ask Professor Snape."

"Yeah, right."

"He _is_ the local expert."

"If I can't figure it out…perhaps. We'll see." Harry looked to the books Hermione had.

"Memory magic? Working on your pendent again?"

"Yes…I've found something…interesting; I'm trying to sort it out. Do you mind if I hold onto your mother's necklace for a few more days?" Harry smiled and waved his hand.

"Take as much time as you need," he said. Hermione smiled back and turned to her first book, which had several ribbons marking pages throughout, and Harry turned back to his potions assignment. He had been making a genuine attempt at doing better this year, and had the copious notes to prove it, but he still couldn't determine what Hermione had seen. He paged back and forth through the volume Remus had given him, and then through his potions texts, but simply grew increasingly frustrated. Finally he gave up and sidled up to Connor.

"I want you to teach me to dance."

"Dance…how?"

"Uh, I don't know. The normal way, I suppose?"

"Okay, uh, so, what's the normal way over here?" Connor was looking at him as though he were crazy, which wasn't, Harry thought, the first time.

"You know...you have a girl you want to impress, and you have to know how to dance…_that_ kind of dancing," he said.

"That's not really my bag, man. I fly solo."

"I thought it was what you did? Dance." Connor took a deep breath.

"There are different kinds of dancing, Harry. Just because I can do one kind doesn't mean I can do the other." Seeing the look on Harry's face, he added, "let's see what I can do." They went over some basic steps. Harry showed Connor some of the dance they'd been expected to do in his fourth year. He started off being the teacher, but after a half-hour, Connor had picked it up and was giving him tips. A half-hour after they started a voice spoke out that startled him so much he almost drew a wand on her.

"Getting on with my boyfriend?" Natalie McDonald stood in the darkened doorway, her lithe frame a shadow and the mass of hair a halo of complete darkness. "I suppose he can dance a little," she said. "Nothing like me."

"Is that a fact?" Harry asked, uncertainly. Natalie responded by holding her arms out. Harry took them, the way he'd been shown two years ago. It soon became obvious that Natalie was an outstanding dancer. She'd glide across the room without any apparent effort.

"Honestly, you need to lighten up. We're called girls. Get used to having to touch us sometimes." She stepped sideways, into a startled Connor's arms. Conner managed to avoid looking too foolish, and easily wrapped his arm around her. She immediately launched into all sorts of complicated spins and delicate footwork.

"You're doing a waltz, Harry, not taming a yeti. You don't have to be nervous all the time." She continued to spin around the room with Connor, shouting all sorts of things out. "Look at how loose he is. Look at how his feet move. Look at where he has his weight shifted." Harry tried to make mental notes of everything she said. After twenty minutes they had worked up a light sweat and Harry was numb in the head.

"I think that's enough for the day," Natalie said. "Same time tomorrow?"

The next day was a Wednesday, so Harry had Charms and Muggle Studies to look forward too. He was doing well at charms, and Professor Flitwick had cheerfully exempted him from the physical part if a final project, since he could already perform both the sigillum and patronus charms, which were N.E.W.T. level, easily. He still had to do a report, but he had already done the work for both, and as today was set aside for choosing a subject for the massive project, he found himself with almost an entire class-full of spare time. Hermione had been informed that she could use one of her galleons or magic books as a final project, but as it had caused her to become so irate, Flitwick had finally relented and suggested that if she managed to create a pendant similar to Lilly Potter's, she use that. The idea seemed to mollify her, and she spent the entire class period working on the report to document what she had done so far. Halfway though the class, Professor Flitwick managed to wander over to Harry's desk, where he carefully placed Lilly's gloves on the table.

"Are they safe to touch?" Hermione asked, looking up from her furiously scribbling quill. She continued to write in neat, cramped lines, as if doing it without looking was second nature to her.

"Quite," Professor Flitwick pronounced.

"So uh, what do they do then?" Harry asked. Flitwick grinned up at them.

"It took me a very long time to figure out. Sometimes young Potter, what we are certain of can catch up with us in the end."

"Huh?" said Harry, who still wasn't quite grasping it.

"I started with the most reasonable enchantments…warming charms, everyday enchantments, because they seemed the most reasonable. Failing to find those, I moved on to the less likely ones…the harder charms like anti-fumbling enchantments, dexterity enchantments, and the like." He waited for Harry to respond. When he got the slight nod he was looking for, he continued.

"I couldn't understand it. Then I started in looking for curses, though I know your mother would never do that, or get caught up in someone else's tricks…I was certain I was missing something.

"After weeks and weeks I went back to the beginning, and started it as I had been taught to. And after the most elementary of detection spells; something a forth-year would know, I discovered their secret."

Hermione had leaned over her desk now; this was the kind of story that held her complete attention. She had even stopped writing. On Harry's other side, Parvarti was even gazing at the gloves with a curious gleam in her sea-green eyes.

"Can you guess what that charm was?" Flitwick asked. Harry shook his head, but Hermione looked as if she had just eaten something that tasted exceptionally foul.

"Eccletus?" she asked. Harry vaguely remembered that spell. They had done it at least once or twice a few years ago.

"Eccletus. A spell so simple and powerful it does only one thing; it detects the presence of magic. _Of course_ it's where I should have started."

"You mean…" Harry began. Professor Flitwick nodded furiously.

"You know," said a soft voice behind them, causing all three of them to jump, "I'm reminded of a little trick I learned from a Muggle solicitor some time back," Dumbledore said. "If people think that something is on your mind, they try to imagine what it is. It puts them on edge, as it were. There are a good many differences between our world and theirs, but human nature stays the same, regardless of where you put it. As much as the Muggles could learn from us, we could learn from them. After all, look at some of the silly things they've had to invent in lieu of having no magical talent!"

"Indeed," agreed Flitwick enthusiastically. "It just goes to show that all of us occasionally fall into the same trap…"

"You get so consumed trying to figure out if the star is red or blue that you forget to ask whether it's even a star," Parvati murmured.

"Oh! Nicely phrased, Miss Patil!" Professor Flitwick squeaked. "Did you need something, Professor?"

"Yes, Filius," Dumbledore began. "I was wondering if perhaps…" He moved out of range, and Harry looked back and forth from Parvati to Hermione, and then to the gloves. The two girls weren't hostile, but shared a sort of awkward bond. They didn't chat much and Harry honestly didn't mind.

He was at the same time exited and afraid to spend a class with Parvati without Hermione, though when he did, it was surprisingly difficult to talk to her. He found himself unable to say anything, though she wasn't urging him on. He did manage to go the whole time without being yelled at by the professor, a rarity lately. Lavender, whose entire purpose in life seemed to revolve around becoming the central repository for knowledge on all things socially significant, prattled on happily, with both Harry and Parvati inserting the odd "ah," or "oh," or "and you say it will grow back?" Harry hadn't become that much closer to her, in spite of having her in class all the time and perusing a romantic relationship with her best friend. She seemed happily oblivious to the stained silence between Harry and Parvati, so Harry judged that it couldn't be as bad as it seemed. Although she seemed like a gossiping airhead, she was remarkably astute at noticing which girls were flashing glances at which boys, and which boys were returning them. She hadn't said anything at all about Harry and Parvati, but Harry figured that was because Parvati had enticed her into staying quiet somehow, and not because she hadn't noticed. She was far too keen on the affairs of others to have missed that.

"Are you going back to the common room, Harry?" Parvati gazed at him with huge gleaming eyes, and it was several moments before he remembered to answer.

"Ah…I have this thing to do. In a half-hour, perhaps."

"This thing?" Lavender asked, suddenly aware. "What do you mean, _this thing_?"

"Just…this thing." Harry answered. Parvati nodded and pulled back her books, which she had been about to hand to him. He felt bad, somehow, that he wouldn't be able to carry them.

When class had ended, he ran to the empty classroom where Connor and Natalie were supposedly teaching him how to dance. They were already twirling around the floor and looked slightly unhappy that Harry had interrupted.

"Today you just work on feeling the beat," Connor said. "I want you to step in circles with the beat or the music no mater how it changes."

"In fact," Natalie said, holding up her wand, "I want you to do this." She held her hand aloft, and a shower of smoke and sparks drifted from her wand and hung in the air. "When the music stops, tap out the rhythm, how you think it should go." They started with a very simple, slow song, and by the end, Connor had worked through a small stack of records, and Harry wad to struggle to keep up.

"That's enough for the day," Connor announced, looking into the hallway.

"I don't mean to sound ungrateful…" Harry started.

"But?"

"But will I be doing the same dance all night? How did spinning in a circle faster and faster help me?"

"No matter the step, you'll have to move your feet to the beat, right?"

"I guess so."

"So now you have proven to yourself that you can hear the beat. You don't have a reason to _not_ move to it."

"But what if I take the wrong step?"

"We'll work on that later," Natalie said. "First things first, Harry."

Back in the common room, Harry slumped onto a lounge next to Parvati and Lavender. She wasn't as close as she had been when he had fallen asleep next to her, but she was close enough. He closed his eyes lazily and was nearly asleep when a voice spoke from in front of him.

"Snakeroot."

"Wha?" he managed, groggily, his potions book falling to the ground. Hermione handed him a slip of paper. On it was on word : _snakeroot_.

"Connor came up with it…I don't know why I didn't think of it first. What kind of potion is that?" It took Harry several moments to realize she wasn't being rhetorical, and expected an answer.

"A…a binding potion?"

"A binding potion," she agreed. "And what was missing was something to stabilized the blood in a more or less human form." Parvati was watching this entire exchange lazily, but Harry got the feeling she was keenly interested for some reason.

"Potions," he said to her, and she nodded distractedly and turned back to her book, the astronomy text. She'd bought one of Hermione's incredible books, though as near as Harry could tell, it was still entirely devoted to the stars.

"We should get working on that tonight."

"But I have...potions tonight!"

"Have you read how long that potion takes to make?"

"A month. It says it has to be made on a new moon and season a month. I have plenty of time. Anyway, we can't even start on it until next year."

"You can't start on the _potion _until next year, you can start on the report any time. Anyhow, it will take at least a month for the _first _part. Didn't you read the whole thing?"

"Of course I did!" Harry was certain that Hermione knew he had done no such thing.

"Then you'd know the first stage alone is what takes a month. It's a four-stage potion and the rest will take at least two weeks, since you can only do it in class."

"I…know," he protested feebly.

"Of course you do. And since you've figured that out, you'll know that if you mess it up and have to start over, even just once; it could take you into March just to get started again."

"I know!" Leave it to Hermione to spoil a perfectly good day.

"We should probably get started on it tonight then. Say seven, in the library? And bring lots of parchment. You know how long the report needs to be." Harry glanced at Parvati. A sort of unspoken relationship had developed between them, and while it was still very casual, they had been spending an awful lot of time together. She still hadn't agreed to go to the ball with him, in so many words, but Harry had heard from Ron, who had heard from Ginny, who had heard from Luna, who had overheard Padma and Parvati talking together when Terry Boot had asked her to the dance. The word was that she had politely declined, and said she already had a date. Whether that was true or whether she was only saying it so as not to hurt Terry's feelings was anybody's guess.

"If you have that much to do you should probably get started," she said softly, "I have a report that isn't due until next Friday; I suppose I could run through it." She flashed Harry a wide smile and he returned it, feeling that he was grinning like an idiot. Ron walked in through the portrait hole; hands in his pockets, with the distinctive jingling of coins rang through the common room.

"Little sis," he paused next to Ginny, who had been talking with Vicky. Ginny glanced up with a questioning look on her face. Ron plopped down a healthy-sized stack of coins.

"Your allowance...don't go spending it all in one place." The look on her face was one of stunned disbelief. Vicky craned her head around to stare at Ron curiously. She obviously knew something of the Weasley's financial situation, even if she didn't know the particulars.

"What...what is this?" Ginny finally managed.

"The fruits of my labors...I've worked long and hard for that, so treat it with some respect."

"The fruits...Ron, there wouldn't even be _weeds_ of your labors...you haven't done any labors."

"Such a rude thing to say to your big brother Gin...very rude. I hope you spend some of that on lessons for some manners."

"Lessons? I'll show you lessons..." Ron didn't take the bait, and he ambled over to Harry's side, still jingling the coins in his pocket.

"Well, hello then," he said casually.

"Ronald...what's is going on?" Hermione was looking at him out of the corner of her eye.

"I'm glad you asked. You know how you've been on me to 'take initiative'? That's exactly what I've done."

"What...by hustling some poor fourth years in chess again?"

"You might be surprised to know that I have recently procured the contract for exclusive franchise rights to Hogwarts, for a certain novelty company." Ron had never used words like _procured_ or _exclusive _in his entire life, and Hermione was reduced to staring at him, squinting as if she was trying to figure out where the real Ron had gone to, and who this obviously polyjuiced wizard in front of her was. After a moment, she abruptly replied.

"Right. Fine. Just don't be late tonight or I may change my mind."

"You can bet I won't be. In fact," he held out a handful of coins. "D'you wanna bet?"

"Goodbye Ron!"

"What _is _going on?" Harry asked quietly. Ron glanced around, looking for eavesdroppers. Seeing none, his hand darted inside his robe. He withdrew and ordinary-looking owl's feather quill. By this time, Parvati was deep in conversation with Lavender, and no one was really paying attention to Harry and Ron. Ron handed the quill over gingerly. Harry stared at it.

"What's this?"

"Go ahead," said Ron, indicating that Harry should try it out.

"I'm...I'm not sure I want to," said Harry, nervously.

"It's not _that_ kind of novelty. Honestly, mate, would I use it on you if it was? Dean maybe..." Harry laughed and dug the scrap of parchment that he'd been using as a bookmark from the potions text. It already had some writing on it, but it was old and faded.

"What should I write?"

"Anything. Something simple," said Ron with a smirk. Harry thought for a moment.

_My name is Harry Potter,_ he began, _I live in Surry. _He mouthed the words silently to himself. On parchment, the words came out normal-looking, but the lines almost immediately rearranged themselves: _Je m'appelle Harry Potter_ the quill wrote, _Je habite à Surry_. Harry paused, and shook it as if it was a Muggle pen that was running out of ink.

"Brilliant, isn't it?" Ron said, smiling broadly.

"What's it say? I don't speak whatever that is."

"I think it's Italian. It's supposed to translate for you."

"Except knowing Fred and George it's likely written something about me being a trout named Harry Potter, and I pee on Surrey."

"Naw," Ron exclaimed. "Well, yeah...I suppose that's a possibility. They did say not to give the black-tipped ones to anyone you fancy." Harry glanced at the quill. The last bit of the rather mundane feather was grey. He took that to mean it was one of the relatively safe ones. "All I can tell you is that they are selling like kettle cakes. I've only got three left, including that one, and I started off this morning with a dozen. Fred and George say something bigger is right around the corner."

"Neville could write to his pen pal in Spanish with one of these."

"Never thought of that," Ron said. "If you can trust Fred and George. I sure wouldn't...once you live in the same house with them...did you know once they charmed the trash bin to have indigestion? You had to mind it, because if you gave it something too spicy, it would spit up on you." Harry stifled a laugh. Ron glanced sideways at him. "Sure..._you_ can laugh...anyway, I always just assumed people would sneak them in with your regular quills."

"What's this 'something big' going to be?"

"Dunno, they wouldn't tell me. These net me a sickle a piece though. You know what that means, don't you?"

"What's that?" Harry asked. Ron punched him on the arm.

"It means I hope you still have my bloody quill; I'm buying it back."


	18. Chapter 18 The Yule Ball

Chapter 18 - The Yule Ball Author's Note

I have about a once every two week goal. That's not hard, because I'd rather do it right than fast. That being said, I need a grammar beta (a real grammar storm trooper, if that's possible), and this is a copy that I haven't gotten back from my beta yet, as I sent it to her far too late, so it's going to have problems. I'll just replace this with the beta version when I get it. Thanks for the reviews ahead of time.

Pat

**/Author's Note**

Chapter 18 - The Yule Ball

Later, Harry was reluctantly preparing to meet with Hermione. He had his potions text, the book that listed the binding potion, and quite a lot of parchment. Not to his surprise, he saw the broad back and sandy blond hair of the American almost immediately. Hermione was almost hidden behind Connor; and to make her even harder to spot, she had hunched over, as if she was ashamed to be there. Next to them sat Neville, who was glancing around and looking somewhat nervous. To Harry's surprise, when he got closer, he saw that Ron was on the other side of Hermione; he was completely hidden from the doorway by Connor's bulk. Hermione saw him coming and managed a small wave. When Harry reached the table, he saw a familiar-looking sketch. It took him a moment to place it, by which time he had already slung his bag over that back of the free chair and slouched into it. He had seen that image dozens of times. It was part of the marauder's map, and in fact, it was the basic area that he had trailed Malfoy and Connor to, the day that Connor assaulted Draco and then vanished from the map.

"...behind it." Connor was finishing.

"What's this?" Harry whispered to Neville.

"Operation Ferret," Neville whispered back. "They are talking about how Malfoy has been hanging around in that tower. There's nothing there, so Hermione reckons that's the place to get him."

"...so, we can have one of us on the astronomy tower and one of us in the owlry, and he'd be in between," Hermione pronounced. "Here's what were going to do. Whoever is in the owlry will have the package. They're going to banish it...the best I could without a lot of expensive ingredients is disillusionment, so we'll have to hope that's enough...Harry, was that letter invisible, as well?" Harry shrugged and looked totally lost. "We kind of need to know...he'll be suspicious if he sees a letter flying trough the air and he wasn't supposed to."

"I didn't see it before I hit it, if that's what you mean." Hermione nodded.

"Maybe we shouldn't just banish it then. If it's going to be almost invisible I don't fancy trying to hit it with timing. We could just levitate it at him and summon it from the other side, couldn't we? I mean, it'll be dark." Hermione looked up, shocked.

"Ron, that's brilliant!"

"Well...I have my moments," Ron said sheepishly, turning red and looking down at his hands. "Anyway, you can't expect us to have Fred and George as brothers and have the rest of the Weasleys talent-less when it come to...whatever we're doing."

"Excuse me," Harry said, "but I'm a little lost. What's going on now?"

"Operation Ferret," Hermione whispered. "You arrived a little late so you missed the beginning. Fred and George have sent us a token with the proper spells on it…Ron wanted me to do it, but I kept telling him I wasn't trying to be funny last year. We're just trying to figure out how to get it to Malfoy. Honestly, I don't know how I was talked into this!" she added.

"Can I see it?" He asked. In response she carefully tipped a small token into her hand. He instinctively reached for it, and she jerked her hand back.

"You mustn't touch it with bare skin." It was only then that he realized that she was wearing thin, skintight gloves. He dug in his pockets, and pulled out his mother's gloves, which were still it them. They were tight; doubtless by this time next year they wouldn't fit. For now, they went on like Hermione's…skin tight leather that had some room but otherwise was nearly painted on. The thought flashed through his mind that he was safe for today, but he wouldn't try this again. He didn't want to burst a seam trying to force them on his hands. When he had his hands safely covered, Hermione dropped a small coin carefully into his palm. Harry studied it carefully.

It looked old, with nicked sides and a small chunk taken out of one edge. On one side there was the relief of a man. He looked vaguely like Malfoy, but was indistinct enough to be a distant relative or an ancestor of some type. On the obverse, there was a huge W, ornate and intricately designed.

"What's with this? He can't know more than a handful of people who have 'W' for an initial."

"That's what I thought...then I realized something," she reached into his palm, rotating the coin. The 'W' became an elaborate 'M'. Harry smiled. "Fred and George are far to cunning to miss that. It strikes me that the two of them would have a right laugh knowing that Malfoy was treasuring something marked with their initial," Hermione allowed herself a small chuckle. Harry privately believed that Hermione's appreciation of Fred and George's various forms of mischief was often considerable. She certainly didn't approve of them deciding not to return, but she couldn't argue that they didn't have a cleverness about them that defied convention. Harry was certain that the only reason she had supported them as much as she had was that she was innately curious, and they _did_ tend to pique that. Whether it was intentional, as Ron had pointed out, or just dumb luck the result had been the same; Hermione getting drawn into a plan she didn't approve of but nonetheless, one to which she contributed. A potential problem occurred to him.

"What's to stop him from writing home and finding out they know nothing about it?" In response, Hermione wordlessly slid a single piece of parchment across the table.

_Take this talisman. It is an object of great power and no small value to the Malfoys. I have obliviated myself to remove all traces of it from my memory, rather than let it fall into the hands of another. You know of whom I speak. Guard it well...keep it with you always. You must never speak of it in my presence. Others can read minds as easily as you this page. Burn this letter. --N--_

"Why 'N'? Why not 'L'?"

"Lucias is still in hiding. It makes more sense that is mother sends him an heirloom than his father," Hermione answered.

"Nice. So...what is the plan?" Harry asked.

"Like we said...We place this in an envelope and do a disillusion charm on the envelope. We'll have to do it up right, because even though he's an arrogant prat, he is a seeker. We can't risk him seeing it," Hermione started. Ron took up where she left off.

"You and me seal it with the wax you found, then one of us wears the cloak up to the astronomy tower and summons it strait at 'im. One of us will be one the other side to levitate it out of the owlry."

"And it has to be against his skin to work?" Harry asked. Hermione nodded. "What...what's it do?"

"No clue, mate," Ron pronounced.

"What?"

"I asked Fred and George not to tell me," Hermione said. "Their sense of humor can be a little...coarse. I knew if they told me, I'd lose my nerve. I had them send me a packet." She held up a securely sealed envelope. Harry mulled it all over in his head.

"And you say it has to touch his skin to work?" he asked. Ron, Hermione, and Neville nodded. "Well you should put it on a chain or something. It's more likely he'll wear it around...I doubt he'd ever take it off then." Hermione smiled nervously.

"Brilliant," Neville remarked. Ron slapped Harry on the back.

"That's thinking, mate!" Harry grinned in response.

"What I need you to do," Hermione started, dropping the coin in the parchment envelope, "is find a way to affix that seal. It has to look right. Leave the rest up to me." Harry nodded, and Hermione collected up her books. "Now, about that potion..."

"Potter, what is this newfound fascination with rodents?"

"Uhhh..." Harry stammered. "I was just thinking of Pettigrew, I guess."

"Well, do not. I will grant you that it's an improvement over your usual tendency to sacrifice Weasley, Granger, and that Patil girl. What did your text say about hypnosis and its ability to obfuscate while actively defending yourself?"

"That they uh...didn't work together?"

"One does not answer a question with a question, Potter. If your text says that, why are you trying to defend while using self-hypnosis as a defense?"

"I don't know sir."

"Are you attempting to use the white rats as a diversion?" Snape was being remarkably civil, considering it was Snape. Normally, he would have insulted James Potter a dozen times by now.

"I may be...at some level. I'm sorry, sir," he breathed out deeply. It was physically painful to treat Snape with that much respect. "It won't happen again."

"See that it doesn't. Prepare yourself."

The rest of the lesson went as normal. Snape seemed to be momentarily disinterested in bothering with causing Harry grief, and to his disgust, Harry left the lesson wondering whether or not he could have been pushed harder. He had listened to the old bat tell him he was incompetent so many times that when Harry didn't hear it, he could only assume he was doing something wrong.

The next week flew by in a blur of dancing lessons, end of term tests, and DA lessons. Before he knew it, it was the Friday before classes were set to end. He'd spent the day struggling through classes, and was currently lazily lying about in the Gryffindor common room. He'd walked back from Muggle Studies with Parvati's books every day since he'd shuffled her off for dancing lessons with Connor and Natalie, and he felt proud, as if he was actually trying to do something. It was very satisfying to know that it was hard to break a Muggle Studies text, and in any event, she hadn't opened it in at least a month. She preferred to borrow most of her test answers from Harry. He was actually getting a very good grade in that class, since the little that he did study was mostly because wizards had some very odd ideas about Muggles, and a Muggle-raised student generally wouldn't take that class. Now that his classes were done for a whole two weeks, he was sitting on a lounge next to Ron and Hermione.

"Did you seal up the thing for OF yet?" Hermione lowered her ancient runes book long enough to ask.

"We'll get right to that," Ron said, before Harry had a chance to answer. Lately, he'd been agreeing to nearly everything Hermione said. As it got closer to the Yule Ball, he became more and more worried that she would find a reason not to go with him, and so at least temporarily, Ron had resigned himself to doing actual homework in an attempt to show Hermione that he wasn't completely beyond salvage. Parvati had been strangely absent, and her and Harry hadn't actually talked much over the last four days, excepting the walks back from class. She seemed cranky and irritable, and he didn't know how to approach it. Ginny, on the other hand, had gotten far too comfortable with him around for his liking. He didn't know if he liked her or not...he supposed he did, but it was certainly odd. Not only was she dating Dean, who was on fairly good terms with Harry; she was Ron's little sis, which put enormous pressure on Harry not to do or say anything that could draw her honor into question.

In front of him, Ron was pulling things out of his trunk. In one hand his friend held a small wooden box, and the other he used to dig through the strata of his trunk until he found what he was looking for. With a grunt of triumph, he pulled a candle from the chest in an explosion of socks, quills, and various undergarments. He cursed and stuffed them back in half-hazardly, and then put the candle on his dresser and lit it. From the wooden box he pulled a straight razor, and held it over the flame.

"You don't grow up with Fred and George without knowing how to do things like this," Ron explained, seeing the look on Harry's face. Harry glanced around to ensure they were alone.

"So, I get Neville, but uh...why is Connor involved?"

"Search me. He found out somehow that something was up. Maybe Neville told him. He's the one who's been following Malfoy around though. He claims Malfoy will be in that tower; that he's been following him there for a while. I'm not sure I really trust him." Harry thought about that.

"I think he'll keep his mouth shut. He's not exactly Malfoy's biggest supporter."

"Still," Ron said, eyes flashing towards the door.

"Fetch the wax and envelope," a tiny voice squeaked. It was apparently not the first time the razor had been subjected to such treatment, because it shouted out instructions as if it knew just what to do.

"Hold me the other way, and you won't get so much smoke on the blade. Watch how long I'm in the fire! You'll ruin my temper."

"There's no problem with my temper," Ron muttered. "Except I'm about to lose it. Oi! Say something useful!"

"Fine...fine," the razor complained. "I'm probably quite hot enough. You should only put the seal on me for a moment...just long enough to say your name...unless your name happens to be Winthrop Abernackle. Then I'd just say something good and short...like _naughty_."

"Hold the letter up," Ron ordered, with an air of authority Harry had seldom heard. Ron took the wax seal and set it on the flat of the razor blade.

"Now! Now!" the razor warned. Ron had already begun to slide the seal off, and it plopped on the envelope, drying almost instantly and looking like it had started there. Malfoy wouldn't be able to tell that the letter was a forgery by the wax seal, that much was certain. There was a small film of liquid wax on the blade, which Ron wiped off with an old sock.

"I must say," the razor piped, "that was a fine job."

"Thanks," Ron replied, as if it wasn't the least bit odd that they were having a conversation with the razor.

Harry didn't see Parvati at all that night, which only bothered him a little. He was so busy that for a moment he felt guilty for not seeking her out, and then felt that he had too much to do to be guilty. He had Christmas presents to buy for one...he still had to get Ron's and he wanted to buy something for Parvati, assuming they were still an item. He momentarily had time to wonder if that would be a problem. Then reality punched him in the nose again and he snapped back to wondering why a Chudley Cannons robe was the same cost as a Hollyhead robe, when the Harpies had come up just shy of a championship and the Cannons had been at the bottom of the league for a long time, last year being no exception. He was a little worried about Ron resenting that much money going towards his gift, but Ron had lightened up considerably as he had garnered more and more from Fred and George's exploits. Bit by bit, the lanky Gryffindor had been purchasing back his assorted paraphernalia from Harry. It seemed to be a point of pride for him that he was even able.

The envelope for Operation Ferret promptly disappeared into a small sack. Ron was careful not to handle it with his bare fingers, and Harry didn't deal with it at all. From there they went to the astronomy tower, which was empty, because it was so cold that sneaking up there when it was specifically disallowed (classes had ended for the year) seemed like more trouble than it was worth. Harry could just see Malfoy's glowing blond hair on the tower in front of them. Harry was now certain that Malfoy had been on his way to that particular tower when he had gotten waylaid by Connor and beaten senseless. The two of them were standing under Harry's invisibility cloak, which was a bit tight, but it was so cold that he was thankful for another source of body heat, so he didn't complain. Beside him, Ron was rubbing his hands together briskly, palming his wand.

"You know, I've been mostly left out of things. It sounds like you've gotten this planned out," Harry said. Ron nodded in his general direction.

"Okay mate, they've disillusioned it and Hermione's going to levitate it. I give it a summon and it ought to run right into Malfoy...he's almost directly in between us. Just like we said earlier. You didn't miss anything really...a bunch of the Yank thinking he some kind of ninja, or something, and my brothers lending us a hand. That's all"

"How do we know that he wasn't going to take the letter off the bird's leg himself?"

"I guess we don't," Ron said. "We're just going to have to hope."

"That doesn't reassure me."

"No worries, mate. She's going to change the date on the galleon when she's ready. Half the school has them, but they're so used to it by now that they'll probably just ignore it. That means 'go' to us though." They waited around several more moments until a current of warmth flowed from Harry's pocket to his leg; the galleon's date had been changed. Ron rubbed his hands together again.

"Here goes nothing..._Accio operation-ferret-letter_." Harry had learned long ago that summoning worked best if you were as specific as possible. Ron was simply avoiding the problems that would arise if every letter in Hogwarts mysteriously made for the Astronomy tower at once. After a moment, Malfoy jumped as though he'd been slapped, glancing around wildly. Ron hurriedly lowered his wand, breaking the spell. Malfoy continued to look around suspiciously, bending to pick up the letter, and shaking that talisman from the package. His face was screwed up in a mask of confusion, but after a while he held up one arm to examine a small silvery object on a chain. After some hesitation, he let it drop around his neck. Ron and Harry both let out deep breaths and Malfoy glanced over at their hiding place. At almost the same moment someone banged through the door to the tower roof, carrying something bulky.

Harry recognized the gold flecks in her hair immediately, and her expensive-looking telescope said that astronomy was very important to her; the she wasn't up here for any moonlight snog.

"Come on!" Ron whispered. Malfoy had already fled. They scooted along the wall, where their feet would be in the shadows, and tried to slip through the wooden door before it latched. There was a lot of ground to cover, and though Parvati was making quite a bit of noise and they didn't have to worry about someone overhearing their shuffling, they didn't make it to the door before it shut securely with a _click_.

"Piss," Ron moaned softly, "there's no way she's not going to notice the door opening and closing on its own. We're gonna' have to make a run for it."

"Wait," Harry stopped his friend, who was already tensing in preparation for the dash. "I have a better idea." He waited until Parvati's back was turned and she seemed engrossed in astronomical equipment, and then yanked open the door, shoved a surprised Ron through, and turned around as quickly as he could. He had time to see Parvati jump and glance at the door.

"Harry?"

"Parvati."

"What...what are you doing?"

"I just saw you coming up here, and I wanted to talk to you."

"You just wanted to talk to me, on an abandoned rooftop, with no coat or apparent concern for your health?"

"I...didn't want to miss you. I had to hurry."

"And why didn't you want to miss me?" That was a good question, and he had what was, in his mind, a good answer.

"The ball is in four days, and you still haven't answered me," Harry said.

"Tell me why I should say yes then, Harry Potter, savior of the wizarding world." Harry suddenly wished he'd had more of a chance to plan this all out.

"Because..."

"Because?" Parvati prompted.

"Because I really want to dance with you." Parvati was staring at him.

"Have you actually _learned_ how?" she asked, glaring at him with huge green eyes, which currently held the moon, the stars, and Harry's attention. In response he stepped forward, hands raised unsteadily. A girl like Parvati had to be interested in more than just waltzing, yet that's what he had spent the most time practicing, so that's what he was going to do. She was wearing a large fluffy coat, which made it harder to figure out where to put his hands, but she didn't correct him, so he must have been almost right.

To the beat of an imaginary song, Harry and Parvati danced with no one to see them but the moon, millions of stars, and Draco Malfoy, who crouched behind the wall of the short tower, gaping in amazement.

"Here's my man!" Ron announced, while flipping Harry a 'thumbs up' sign. Harry, who looked somewhat dazed, sat down beside him.

"Well?" Ron asked impatiently.

"She said she'd go, as long as I promised to dance with her the whole night."

"Well, dancing the whole night doesn't sound like _my _idea of a good time, but what did you say?" Harry got the chance to laugh as he glanced first at the portrait hole, then at his friend.

"What do you _think_ I said? Are you mental? Have you _seen_ Parvati Patil?" He and Ron shared a laugh. "Now I have to get her a gift. You can't ask a girl to that kind of thing and _not_."

"Well, I have loads of those quills left, and you should see the new frogs that George and Fred sent me. They have cards that can _talk_." Harry already knew this--long before Ron had, in fact. He had seen a very special prototype card of one Albus Dumbledore.

"I hope you're not suggesting that I buy her some of those."

"Of course not!" Ron replied, though it seemed obvious that it was exactly what he had been saying, "I'll keep my eyes open, that's all." After a pause, Ron looked over to his friend. "Have a look at this." He tossed an envelope on Harry's lap, which Harry eyed suspiciously. The Logo, with it's three interlocking W's, was familiar.

"What's this?"

"That is Operation Ferret. Fred and George gave me that in case we ever need to take it back."

"It's not even open!"

"And I don't intend to open it. Whatever Malfoy gets, he's been asking for. For longer than I've known him."

"So what do you want to do with it?"

"As far as I'm concerned, we can burn it," Ron answered. He looked at the letter, then tucked it back in to his Temporalism text. The mere fact that he had a schoolbook with reach on the day that classes ended said how much he'd changed, either for Hermione or himself. After a few oddly silent moments, he looked at Harry with a familiar gleam in his eye.

"So...ready to see the new Chocolate Frog cards?" A third year who happened to be passing by stopped abruptly.

"_Which_ new cards?" she asked. Harry noticed that it was one of the girls Ron had bilked with his chess game. Ron looked up proudly.

"Would you believe talking cards?"

"Big deal," said the gambler who had lost the five Galleons. "What can they say that's interesting anyway? _Hi, I'm Mildred Moner_...blah blah blah."

"Oh, ye of little faith," Ron remarked to the girl, who had a sizable entourage. "Watch this." With a flourish, Ron produced an ordinary looking Chocolate Frog from his pocket. He made a big deal of pulling open the flaps, and stuffed the entire frog into his mouth before it could do so much as wiggle.

"Gross!" cried the girl with the Ludo Bagmen gleam, though she was still staying around to watch. Ron looked at the card, which featured Newt Scamander. The slightly scarred and singed wizard looked up at Ron and nodded politely. Ron gulped down the remains of the frog.

"Can I ask you a question?" Ron said conversationally. Newt smiled and nodded.

"Certainly, my boy," he wheezed in his faint and raspy voice.

"How many species of dragon are native to North America?"

"There are no species native to North America, although many examples exist of various Asiatic breeds migrating that far. In indigenous lore, dragons usually are referred to not as general species, but as individuals, leading to the belief that a relatively low number of dragons ever made it to the new world; low enough so as to acquire individual recognition. Common Welsh Greens and the Spanish Steeltooth have both been successfully transplanted there, and it has long been discussed whether the Windigo may be some type of dragon, dragonkin, or dragon derivative. As you know, dragons require the magical energy of humans to exist, and until recently the population was not such that it supported typical European or Asian breeds. Windigos are well known for devouring hapless witches and wizards, or even Muggles, and may in fact be very small dragons that derive their nourishment from directly consuming a living being's energy, rather than the passive sort of absorption common to other, better known breeds. This is all speculative, you understand, North American indigenous records were oral records, and not enough has been garnered in their short documented history to tell for certain."

There was a dead silence in the common room as nearly everyone had stopped to see what the commotion was about, and Newt grinned up happily from under his smoking beard.

"Thank you, Mister Scamander," Ron said politely.

"Don't mention it, son. Glad you're taking a healthy interest!" As Newt said that last bit, he slowed down and then stopped moving entirely, to the point that his final words sounded like a Muggle record player that Harry had once had and played with, pressing on the record to slow it down and give everyone impossibly low voices.

"Ronald, I will give you a Galleon for a Goshawk, right here and now," the betting girl said, with an absolutely straight face.

"I can't tell you what you'll get; it's like an actual Chocolate Frog...it's a roll of the dice, really. I can tell you that you have about a minute after you open them to get all you can, and that there's no guarantee they'll want to answer any questions. On the other hand..." he shrugged. Newt Scamander's performance had spoken for itself. That was the cue for pandemonium to ensue, and in less than five minutes, Ron had sold out of his meager stock of Chocolate Frogs. He'd even moved them in spite of the near certainty that someone would be getting the traditionally hard ones to move, like Musidora Barkwith, who composed the unfinished _Wizarding Suite_, which prominently featured an exploding tuba..

"D'ya hear that sound?" Ron asked. "Sounds like a train. It sounds like _my_ train." Harry laughed, and accepted another galleon from Ron, in exchange for some of his old _Quiddich_ _Weekly_ magazines.

"I just wouldn't count on those being allowed for long," Harry remarked. "I can't imagine what Hermione will say when she finds out about them."

"I'll just tell her I'm learning from the experts," Ron said, after a pause. Harry grinned, imagining that conversation.

Harry had nothing to do the entire next day, and he wasted the majority of it on a large winged chair in the common room. About halfway though the day, Parvati appeared and sat on his legs. It was awkward, but he supposed that he would have to get used to it, if she was going to end up being a girlfriend, which was what he assumed was happening. Parvati didn't try to talk. Instead, she merely appeared, perched on him, and went to sleep. They got a few glances, but so what? Like he didn't anyway.

No one seemed to want to do anything over the break and aside from his dancing lessons with Connor, which Connor and Natalie insisted that he come to, he was remarkably lazy, even skiving off the work he was supposed to do over the break for his reduced class load.

The Monday before the ball Harry sat down next to Ron and the Gryffindor table.

"I need your help," Harry said

"Wha?" Ron murmured, somehow managing to eat toast and drink at the same time. He made it a point to sit on the side of the table facing the Slytherins...if the twins came through with Operation Ferret, he didn't want to miss it.

"I need to buy her a gift...I need it to be good, but not too much. You know?"

"I know what you mean, but I don't really know what to tell you. I mean, with Hermione, at least we have an idea what she wants."

"Maybe I should ask Hermione."

"Maybe you should," he said, shrugging. He was going to say more until a voice came from behind them.

"Should what?" Hermione asked.

"He needs to buy something for Parvati," Ron managed, through a mash of pumpkin juice and toast.

"Get her what you'd any girl," Hermione said, and then listed things off while emphasizing then by ticking her fingers. "Perfume, jewelry, quality chocolates...it shouldn't be that hard."

"Hmph," Harry replied. It seemed plenty hard to him. He didn't want to get just any old ring or sweet-smelling water. Chocolates seemed somehow paltry and not grown-up enough for him. Although he was counting the minutes until the Yule Ball; at the same time he was anxious for the next week, bored, and dreading the resumption of classes. Meals seemed to pass too slow and too fast at the same time. Parvati stayed sitting next to Lavender, but she did flash a look at Harry that he had been barely brave enough to return.

"Next time, you'd better go sit by her," Hermione whispered in his ear, almost crossly. Harry nodded, but he wasn't sure whether to look forward to that or dread it, or possibly both. When the next lunchtime rolled around, he nervously sat between Ginny and Parvati. He wished it had been Ron sitting next to him, but it least it was a Weasley, and that was a step in the right direction.

"Hi Harry!" Parvati greeted him brightly, then immediately ignored him and turned to Lavender.

"That's rude!" Ginny whispered in his ear. He shrugged...frankly he was somewhat relieved at not having to talk to her so much. In his mind, now that he'd gotten her to agree to go to the ball with him, the less said between them, the better. It eliminated the chance that he would say something that would make her think again. That was, in his estimation, a fairly reasonable fear. No one had ever accused him of saying the right thing as a matter of habit.

As much as Harry wanted them to, the next few days wouldn't simply fly by and get it over with. Several girls asked him out, and even though he got quite talented at politely refusing, he hid from the situation whenever he could. That meant he didn't leave the common room, or even the dormitory on Tuesday, which was the actual day of the ball. The sole exception was his trip to the infirmary.

"What now, Mister Potter?" Madame Pomfrey was polite but characteristically terse.

"I wonder if I didn't catch something. I feel a little sick to my stomach. You know with Dean and all I figure it's just a matter of time until I get it." Madame Pomfrey glanced and him, tilting his chin up and staring at his neck and ears.

"Oh, you've caught something alright. You're spot on...it's been going 'round."

"Is it bad?" Harry asked.

"Terrible," Madame Pomfrey declared.

"Will I...will I have to stay home tonight?" The thought was in a tiny way comforting, but he had to admit that he had been looking forward to this an awful lot since Parvati had said _yes_.

"Not if you do exactly what I tell you to do," Madame Pomfrey said, sternly. That was good news.

"What is that?"

"I want you to go back to the dorm at get a good hour of rest. Then I want you to examine yourself in the mirror. Pay close attention to your eyes and lips. Make sure they don't look funny."

"So far, so good," Harry announced. "Then what?"

"Then put on your dress robes, go to the ball, and forget about being nervous. Everyone there will be nervous! They'll be too busy to worry about you."

"But what is it?"

"Anxiety, Potter. There are plenty of alchemical remedies, but they all quit working sometime. On the contrary, learning to deal with it gets rid of the problem forever." Madame Pomfrey looked down her nose with clear grey eyes, and with a hint a smile, ushered Harry out.

He did end up taking her advice, though he was having trouble sleeping when he was so wound up. He was finally able to drift off, and in what seemed like no time at all Ron was shaking him awake.

"It's now or never, Harry."

"Never, then. I've changed my mind, I don't want to go."

"As much time as you spent conning Parvati into giving you another chance? I don't think so, mate. Get up." Harry moaned and squeezed his eyes shut.

"What are you doing?" Connor asked.

"It doesn't matter, you're all still here. It's not working." Harry struggled to his feet and waved his wand over the dress robes he'd hung out earlier, where a faint bull's eye glimmered. Definitely his. The dress robe was much the same as the one he'd had a few years ago, though it was slightly shinier and deeper green, as fashions had changed since then. The shoes also checked out, and his various socks, trousers, and tie. He had no excuse to miss the ball, and he was now starting to wonder if it was physically possible to have butterflies in your stomach, since that's what it felt like. Ron had new dress robes, which were a deep and tasteful shade of reddish-brown, while Dean, Neville, and Seamus had chosen to don the more standard black, although their robes did feature fancy cuts, patterns, or contrasting trim.

Connor, on the other hand, almost looked like a bad joke. His robes, which had been the ones that Harry had seen the first day, were shiny green and blue. After some staring, Harry realized that they were all the same color, and it only appeared to be green or blue based on how you were seeing it. They were cut very loose, and billowed around him, making him seem even bigger than he was. They didn't look used or inexpensive, so apparently their tastes ran differently in America. Harry had decided that Connor must have gotten them on purpose and rather swiftly confirmed that he wouldn't have been caught dead in them. His own robes were a little on the tight side, but Seamus insisted they were supposed to be that way. It was a welcome relief from the Dudley-tent-sized shirts he wore on holiday.

"You should wear those," Connor said, pointing to the dragon-hide boots the twins had given him. Harry picked one up and compared it to his dress shoe, which was not only so shiny he could see his reflection, but almost brilliant enough to see the color of his eyes. The boots, in contrast, were shiny, but in a subtle way, and the texture made them a better match for the robes.

"I'm not sure why I'm taking advice from someone dressed like you, but I think you're right," he said pulling his wand and checking the Sigil on the insole of the boot...the only place the charm resistant leather would allow him to have one; how they managed to stick the sizing charm and cooling charms on them was a mystery that he really didn't care to solve, but a mystery nonetheless. Satisfied, he tugged the boots on. Once again they surprised him with their comfort and weight. He would have an easier time dancing in these than his dress shoes, he was sure of it.

"Well, are we presentable?" Seamus asked.

"I don't know about _him_," Dean nodded at Connor. "We're all handsome devils."

"I don't like my robes skin tight;" Connor shrugged. He was the closest to the door, so he was the first one down the stairs. A few of the students that were already there tittered, but they weren't going to risk a fight this close to the ball. The younger students, who couldn't go to the ball, might have been more vocal but they had more respect for Connor, or more likely, Connor's size.

"Where are the women?" Connor said to no one in particular.

"They've been waiting upstairs..." a second year piped. "We've been waiting for you. We are supposed to get them when you came down. We weren't expecting you all at once!" She dashed up the stairs to the women's dormitory. Somewhere above them a door slammed, and their respective dates began the promenade down the stairs. Katie Bell, the first, was wearing a deep purple dress. Her shoes had ribbons all the way up her legs, like a ballerina's. It helped accentuate the fact that she had shapely legs, from years and years of a very athletic life. She was pretty, no doubt, but Harry thought her legs may have been the best part of her. Seamus had asked her to accompany him after much deliberation and fretting...in between curses in the room of requirement for the DA. His timing was questionable; she had promptly stunned him, and left her answer with a set of welts on his stomach. Still, Harry reckoned that Seamus was a lucky man to be there with her.

Natalie was the youngest person there, and very likely she'd be one of the youngest at the ball. She was petite and lithe, and wearing a dress that only accentuated it. Next to Conner, she would look positively tiny. The one positive aspect was that her dress was somewhat sheer, so it flowed as well; at least she'd match Connor in that aspect. The dress was black so she didn't exactly match or mis-match with Connor's robes of shimmering green and blue. She walked up to American and eyed him carefully, but didn't speak.

Lavender was naturally dressed in a pale lavender dress, one that contrasted with her equally pale skin. Glitter was apparently the next 'in' thing, and the glitter that Lavender was wearing was silver, blue, and purple, and it laced her hair, which she had in some sort of fancy braid. Harry had time to think that she may have actually been the prettiest girl in their year, but only when she wasn't talking. Neville took her hand hesitantly.

"You make a good autumn," Natalie said softly. Lavender giggled.

"Thank you!"

It was mildly amazing that she had chosen to go with Neville, but since about half way through the first half of classes, around the end of October, an astonishing number of women were showing him a surprising amount of affection. More that one had actually hinted that they would be glad to accompany him, and it helped that Ginny had thrown in a nice word about how he was a good date, and how had danced the whole time with her the last time around. She must have kept the part about him stepping on her toes to herself.

"What's the story with that?" Ron had asked one day, upon observing the continuous stream of women that seemed to trail after Neville like fleas on a dog. None of the women would deign to give him any information, and the best that Harry had been able to come up with was that Neville had been making some sort of potion for them. No one would tell him any more, and he was honestly afraid to ask.

What could make Neville the center of their affections?

Ginny looked very good. It may have been Harry's imagination, but he could have sworn she was glancing at him, almost as it she was waiting for his reaction as much as Dean's. She was wearing a simple white gown with deep brown --almost back-- trim. Her lips were very shiny, her hair was very red, and her eyes were very deep. Harry had to wonder what he'd been thinking all these years. Dean was almost drooling, and he hardly flinched when Ron kicked him in the shin. Harry couldn't blame him.

Hermione looked phenomenal. She was wearing a deep red dress, almost an evening gown, with just a touch of what had to be Lavender's glitter in her hair. She had never been a fan of makeup, so seeing any on her was a shock. Her vermillion lipstick and eye shadow made the dress a full body ensemble, and Ron was truly a fortunate man. Harry heard him gasp from beside them, and he was happy that his best friend was wearing something better than the shabby dress robes of a few years ago. It would be a crime to have Hermione looking that good and Ron in his used robes that were covered with mouldy lace and smelling of mothballs. Ron had looked like he'd mugged a geriatric mental patient, the last time around.

Parvati was later than the rest, enough so that Dean had time to crack a joke.

"Maybe you got stood up," he said, teasing Harry, "you'll have to go stag!" Harry was going to answer when Parvati walked slowly down the stairs. When he got a look at her, he didn't bother talking; he couldn't spare the breath.

Her dress was not unusual...It was a simple black number, similar to Natalie's, but it was trimmed with a dusky gold. She, like Lavender, had glitter, though only gold, and she was wearing it in her hair and in a light dusting one her cheeks and lips. It accentuated the gold flecks in her hair and eyes, and Harry felt a bit overwhelmed. She was completely out of his league, and yet here she was, settling for a guy who had already burned her once.

She had offered him her hand, and he didn't notice until someone nudged him from behind. Her fingernails were painted a metallic gold, and as she stepped lightly down the stairs, Harry saw that her shoes were gold as well.

"Well?" Ginny asked, striking a pose.

"Well I'd never complain," said Connor. Natalie glanced at him, and then aimed a kick at where she thought his shin would be. Conner's billowing robes saved him, and Natalie instead found herself in his iron grip.

"Let go, you ox! You'll smudge my make-up!" Connor released her, and Hermione placed a hand on Natalie's arm as she was about to pull her wand.

"Do you really want to mess him up before the ball?" she asked, in her prefect voice.

"Oh, I can lay a stinging curse on him that won't show at all," Natalie promised. Harry was thinking that Natalie and Connor had a strange sort of relationship, and that he was glad Parvati seemed content with poking him occasionally with a quill, when it came to causing him pain. Still, Connor had asked her to the ball and Natalie had agreed, so whatever it took to keep them happy was between them. Harry had no desire to become involved in their relationship.

"Maybe we should just go to the great hall," Hermione suggested, and no one disagreed. On the way down to the hall, and waiting in line to get in, they got a chance to mingle with all of the other students. All of the girls seemed to be at least four times prettier than normal, and the boys looked quite grown up and dashing; even the Creeveys, who had both managed to score dates for the night. Draco Malfoy was at the front of the line, making an ass of himself as usual, but even Harry had to admit that Draco's clothes were stylish, and he looked almost an uncomfortable amount like a slighter version of Lucias Malfoy.

"Look," Ron mumbled, and pointed. After a second Harry saw it...a glimmering chain that looked awfully familiar; almost invisible under his shirt collar and grey, almost silvery robes.

"Maybe tonight will be the night," Harry whispered back.

"We can only hope," Ron replied.

"Who's the band?" Connor asked, as music started up. It had guitars, a banjo, bagpipes, and possibly a fiddle. Seamus stared at him in disbelief.

"You've never heard of the Banshees?" Connor shook his head, and Seamus scowled. "How did you make it this far...you are a wizard, right?"

"Debatable," he answered, shrugging.

"I guess; if you've never heard of them."

"They aren't as big in America," Natalie said in Connor's defense.

"Do the actually have a banshee?" Connor said, looking though the doors curiously.

"Don't be silly," Seamus said. "Erin Keene is a ghost, but if she was a banshee, she'd kill at least one person at every concert, wouldn't she? That kind of thing thins out the fan base."

"They have ghosts?" a younger Hufflepuff, who was in the D.A. asked.

"A few of them," Ron replied, and Seamus nodded. He actually smiled then.

"Was afraid to go see them for the first couple years," Seamus remarked, "it took quite a bit of mustard to get me there." At least it wasn't as stupid of a question as he'd led them to believe at first.

The students finally flowed into the great hall. Harry saw several more girls with glitter, but none that looked as good as the group he'd come with, in his opinion. Parvati leaned over his shoulder very early on.

"I don't know what those things are you're wearing for shoes, but if you step on my toes with them, I'll curse you into next week." She squeezed a handful of his robes, until he realized she was grasping his wand, which was in a breast pocket. "Don't think you can stop me, either."

Harry just nodded and continued to dance. He hadn't been lying; he really _did_ want to dance with Parvati, and after a while she seemed to lighten up, even resting her head on his shoulder She must have really liked it; she was risking smearing her make-up.

When Harry saw Ron make his way over to the punch bowl, he offered to go get them some.

"Can I have this dance then?" Neville cut it, almost gracefully. Lavender giggled again. She was flushed, as if she hadn't stopped moving since the evening had started. Harry and Neville traded partners just before the song ended.

"I have to go to the little girl's room anyway," Lavender whispered into Harry's ear, "so at least we'll both get a bit of a break." She danced over to the table with the punch, which was on the same wall as the short hall to the lavatories, and Harry found himself by the bowl, staring at a large hunk of something that might have been pineapple.

"Well?" Ron asked, expectantly.

"Well, what?"

"Don't act the fool!" Ron chuckled, though he sounded serious.

"Well, it's better than last time, I suppose."

"I was watching you...you're doing fine. Connor may be a bit off, but he can dance at least." They both looked up for Connor and Natalie, who where doing some kind of dancing that required moving very quickly very close together. The way Natalie's dress flowed and the way they moved made the robes look a lot less ridiculous. They almost looked like they were wearing matching outfits, because it was hard to tell whose were who's when they were moving, as if Connor and Natalie were both wearing robes of black and green-blue. They still weren't Harry's style though.

"What are you giving Hermione for Christmas," Harry asked. He was still at a loss to determine what to get her. Ron gulped down his glass of punch and poured another. His robes were open and he looked overheated.

"Why don't you just ask Lavender what she'd like?" he suggested.

"I thought about that, but then I thought that Lavender was more apt to tell me what _she'd_ buy her. I don't want to get her just another present like Lavender's. I don't suppose that's very nice."

"Eh," Ron dismissed that last statement with a shrug. "I never thought of it that way. Makes sense, I guess."

"What are you giving Hermione though? That might give me an idea."

"She wouldn't take the necklace unless I promised that it was for her birthday _and _Christmas. I got her a card but she won't allow me to get her anything else. I thought about a book on chess, but I think she might really get mad if I do."

"Mad about what, Ronald?" They both turned to see Luna Lovegood filling a cup by waving her wand over the ladle. That in itself wasn't unusual; anyone wearing a color that was susceptible to splatters or stains often did that, to avoid getting any on them. Luna had a white and blue dress that was really quite pretty, and even she had to do things normally sometimes.

"Er..." Ron stammered, obviously still a bit put off by her. "Harry needs to buy a gift."

"For your date, I assume?" Luna asked. After a long pause during which no one spoke, she added "you'd have to be quite dense not to notice her. She looks very pretty with all that gold. I bet she'd enjoy a nice Safari...Even a short, local one. You could look for Scarlet Ipinaps!"

"Ipin... I was thinking more about earrings or something...something not as plain." Luna tilted her head up in thought.

"Maybe she'd like to go on Safari in her own room. Do you know what a SkyBall is?"

"I'm not sure," Harry said, looking at Ron. Ron obviously didn't have a clue either. Harry didn't know why Luna was so keen on the idea of Safaris.

"They project a sky for you, wherever you are, so you don't ever have to leave the room to look at the night sky. She should enjoy it, one should think, although I rather expect you enjoy the trips to the astronomy tower." Harry blushed furiously, until he almost matched the punch.

"How did he get in here?" Ron asked, not paying attention to either of them. Harry followed his gaze to Dennis Creevey, who was talking to his brother and wearing robes that looked very much like a Muggle suit.

"Oh, I invited him," Luna replied smoothly, as if they hadn't been just discussing something else.

"Do you fancy Dennis?" Ron asked, managing not to sound offensive in any way, which, considering that he was talking to "Loony" Lovegood about Dennis Creevey, was an accomplishment for him. They were two of the people who unintentionally aggravated Ron the most.

"Not at all," Luna replied, "but no one would ever ask me here and he wanted to see the ball, so where's the harm in it, really? Who knows...he may just have some affection for me?" She excused herself with the two cups of punch, and walked back to where Dennis was standing. Dennis accepted the punch and pointed at the same time, nearly slopping it on Luna.

"You know, I want to laugh at that, but something's stopping me," Ron said softly.

"It's called a heart, Ron," Harry replied, now somewhat recovered. The thought had never occurred to him, but he was glad that someone had asked her, even if it was Dennis Creevey. Somehow, he didn't think Dennis would be bothered by anything unusual that she did. As he watched them, he saw Parvati studying them from the corner of his eye. Since he had gotten his two glasses of punch a while ago, he lifted them in a bit of a salute to Ron and made his way back, where he handed one to her.

"You took quite an interest in Lovegood," Parvati said, in a deceptively conversational manner. Harry wasn't going to be fooled that easily.

"She's my friend."

"You don't see me talking to all my guy friends." Fair point. He still didn't like this possessiveness, although he supposed he'd asked for it.

"All right," Harry answered, "what do I have to do to convince you I'm here with you?" In response, Parvati set down her now-empty cup and wrapped her arms around his neck. Later on, they were sitting in their room, relating their respective nights to each other.

"You didn't look that bad, Harry," Connor said. "I was watching, and you could have done worse." Conner was leaning up against his headboard. Apparently Natalie had hexed him several times during the night, and bright red welts crossed his bare chest.

"Thanks to you," Harry said. "You know, I much preferred the waltzing to regular dancing."

"Whyzzat?" Ron asked.

"Think about it..." Harry answered. "Where're your hands if you're waltzing?" Ron smiled

"You dog!" Dean said, in between hacks.

"Say, where do you suppose Neville is?" Harry asked, looking at the empty bed.

"I suppose Neville is having a better night than all of us," Seamus said glumly. He and Katie had less than a perfect evening.

"'Course. You know Lavender isn't back yet. The real question is where they found the room. I'd give a galleon for a peek into the room of requirement right about now." They all laughed.

"You look like you had a good night, Potter."

"Why would you say that?" Harry asked. Dean shook with a spasm of coughs, which seemed to bother him the most when he was laughing.

"She came back with no glitter on her lips!" he managed, between hacks.

"First of all, quit spraying germs about," Harry replied. "Secondly, the glitter on her lips washed off when she drank the punch." Ron was laughing and holding a finger over his lips as if he was saying _shut-up Harry_.

"Is that so?" Seamus asked.

"Of course!"

"Uh huh. So it's on yours because you shared cups?" he casually shot back. Harry wiped his hands over his lips. There on the back of his hand were the treacherous telltale tiny flecks of gold. Everybody including him burst into laughter. The Yule Ball had been a resounding success.


	19. Chapter 19 Back to Classes

Chapter 19 - Back to Classes

"It's like I said in the beginning, 'Not everything has to be this big, life-altering _thing_,'" Parvati insisted. Harry was a little relieved to hear that, because quite frankly, he had been wrestling with his guilt and wasn't sure what to do with Parvati now that the ball was over. She seemed quite content to be left alone when she was with Lavender, which was most of the time, and didn't appear to want much in the way of his time. He was going to say something in response, but she was already talking to Lavender. On his other side, Ginny was sitting next to Dean, who was talking with Seamus about something. It involved a lot of waving his hands and letting his fingers walk across the table top, through his ham and peas. Judging from the amount of pumpkin juice that Ron had just sprayed from his nose, it was a funny story. After lunch, Harry would have to do actual schoolwork, since he'd been slacking in that department, but first he'd have some shopping to do.

"Did you find it?" Harry asked Ron.

"Not yet," Ron said, "but check this out." He pointed at a device that looked much like a telescope, but it had an extra eyepiece further down the tube. "It's a telescope for two. You could look at the stars _together_," Ron added, batting his eye-lashes.

"Shove off!" Harry laughed, pushing Ron off the bench with a grunt. He and Ron paged through the entire catalog, which they'd borrowed from Trelawny. There, on the very last page, was an advertisement and a small order card.

"Two and half? Galleons? Well that's not too bad," Harry said. Ron nodded.

"I expected more, to be honest," Ron replied, eying the form. "It looks like they only take transfers. You can't just send in the cash. Must be somewhere that doesn't use galleons..." He peered at the advertisement for a second. "Ah...Transylvania. Hm."

"If that's what it takes," Harry said, "I just hope it works out better than Operation Ferret. We've been waiting for a week and nothing's happened."

"Give it time," Ron said. "You don't know my brothers like I do. One year, Charlie took their train carriage. They waited an entire school year to get back at him--knocked him out with some sort of draught after he'd gotten on the train back to London, got him to the last carriage, and unhooked his car somewhere around the Scottish border. He was on the track for a day before we found him. His hand on the clock kept hovering between Hogwarts and home...but we couldn't tell why. Mum almost killed them."

"Well, I guess it's not like we do anything but wait." Harry pulled the form off of the back of the magazine. He started to fill it out, while Ron turned to his notes, flipping them back and forth. He was again looking for duplicates of notes he'd already taken.

The SkyBall arrived surprisingly quickly. It looked like a tiny black ball with pin pricks of silvery white, and was attached to a chain so that it could be worn as a necklace. When activated, it not only projected the stars in the sky, but also the dark of night. If it was used in a sunlit room, it produced a blackened ball that was the equivalent of going outside on a dark night, where no sunlight went. The manual was an inch thick and written in broken English. Harry could almost hear a heavily accented voice when he read it..._When using the device, be ensuring that one doesn't need high visibility to perform tasks that might be dangerous_. It almost sounded like Victor Krum in his head. When he showed Hermione, she cringed.

"That's wonderful, but why did you spend so much?"

"What?"

"They call anything like this a SkyBall, but the actual real thing is expensive, Harry. What did you pay for that? Fifteen Galleons? Twenty?"

"What? No! Try two and a half."

"Harry, I hate to say it, but for two and a half it's very likely fake."

"How can it be?" He said, heart beating and sinking at the same time. He dug in his bag for the advertisement, finally pulling the crumpled black sheet of paper out his bag. He unfolded it, smoothing the deep creases. For just a second, he was afraid that he had made a terrible mistake, but it still said "2.5" in large red and white flashing numbers. "I told you so," he said triumphantly. She was looking at the sheet too. Luna appeared from nowhere, actually surprising Harry. How long had she been there?

"You bought this without knowing how much it cost, silly," she said with a smile, "how romantic!"

"Two and a half galleons," protested Harry, tapping on the paper. Then he saw the small dot. He swore that dot hadn't been there before. At the bottom of the sheet was the tiny legend: _exchange rates will vary_. The receipt had come with the SkyBall, but he hadn't looked at it. It was still crumpled up in the bottom of his pack, where he had shoved it. He pulled it out and smoothed it with the edge of his hand. When he saw the price, his stomach clenched.

"_Seventeen galleons!_" he exclaimed. No wonder it had gotten there overnight.

"I know...you could have gotten one for two or three, without the darkening charm, and maybe a little larger globe," Luna continued on. "That's so sweet that you got the brand name one."

"I didn't do it on purpose," Harry grumbled. "Two and a half...seventeen bloody galleons..." His pride over the gift now seemed slightly muted. He didn't know Parvati well enough for a gift like that, but it was so late that he couldn't get her anything else. He took the SkyBall back and put it in its small wooden box. With Hermione spouting instructions and Luna telling him how sweet he was, he wrapped it and placed it under the small tree.

The next morning they got to open the gifts. It was notable mostly because Hemione didn't have one for Harry, and he felt almost ill again at the thought that he was about to give Pavarti a seventeen-galleon gift. That was more than his wand had cost.

He received the usual gifts...assorted chocolates and sweets, a book or two, and a new jumper from Molly Weasley. Parvati had no gift for him, but that was not surprising, give that they hadn't really been involved until three days ago.

"Oh Harry!" she said, looking at the SkyBall, "I can't let you do this!"

"You'd better, because I don't do astronomy any more, and it came from Transylvania, so I can't take it back." He pushed the gobstone-sized ball back at her. The chain it was hanging from was a whitish-silver, and she draped it around her neck. It was very distracting to watch it drop into place. Parvati kissed him warmly, and it was enough to make him reconsider spending as much as he had.

"I'll have to get you something," Parvati said. "You'll have to give me a bit to round something up."

"You don't have to give me anything," he answered. "I'm just glad you gave me another go at it."

"We all deserve second chances," she said, pulling the ball from her shirt. She activated it and the sphere of darkness expanded around the two of them. Harry fidgeted nervously.

"Hai Koshi," she said, pointing. "The Chinese have known about it forever. It's very important because Muggles can't see it; isn't that amazing?" Harry who wasn't sure which spot she was even pointing at just followed her finger. He wasn't sure what dot she meant. "It's tricky to find, but I'm not showing you because of that. I show you because it's biennial. It comes back every two years." Harry nodded as if he knew where she was going with this conversation. "Everything's a cycle," she continued. "You just have to let it come to you." She stopped and gazed at Harry.

Harry figured that trying for another kiss would be worth it, and it was.

***

Harry ended up working especially hard over the next few days. For one, he had to transfer all the manuals and books that Kingsley had given him into Hermione's fantastic condensing journals. Just before Christmas, she'd placed a handsome leather-bound book in his hand.

"What's this?" he asked, eying it. There were brass clamps holding it shut.

"You tell me," Hermione replied, grinning widely.

Harry tapped the book with his wand, which was by far the most common way to make a visible message appear. The book responded with a message that appeared in letters that reminded him eerily of a certain diary he'd had in his possession during his second year.

_'One should be warned that sticking one's wand where it doesn't belong invites a sticky situation.'_

Harry tapped the book again, this time uttering a revealing spell.

_'I'm not kidding_,' the book replied.

"Try an anti-invisibility charm," Hermione said helpfully, grinning cleverly. Harry had to think for a moment to remember the proper incantation listed Manual 713, but eventually he came up with it.

_'If you continue to pound on me maliciously, someone shall have to take away your stick.'_

"Ooh, I bet I know it!" Ron said excitedly, tapping the book before Hermione could stop him.

"No Ron!" she cried, just as the book leapt from Harry's hands, just as _The Monster Book of Monsters_ had, a long time ago. Harry doubted this book could be calmed by stroking its spine, and only his lightning-quick reflexes saved the tip of Ron's nose from a sticky situation indeed. The book still managed to get a hold on Ron's wand, which it spit it out roughly in its zeal to finish the job it started in Ron's face. Hermione shouted something, and the book immediately became placid, purring softly in Harry's hands.

"You've only got four chances," she explained. "All you have to do is say the password. You can set it to whatever you want. Right now, it's _Bilius_."

"Oh, that's bloody marvelous!" Ron quipped sarcastically, peering at the quivering tome over Harry's shoulder, with his hand held over his prominent snout, as though it was still in some sort of danger.

"So I could put all of my books right in that one, then?"

"Well, it doesn't do _everything_ right," Hermione said nervously. "I mean, it _destroys_ the original text, so preserving valuable texts is a bit tricky. It also doesn't work for some kinds of books."

"Like what?" Harry asked, watching Ron fight with the book, which hadn't been able to get its fang-bearing covers open after Ron had clamped them shut and was starting to look as though it was very sleepy.

"Well, things with runes, mostly. I haven't been able to work out the copying charms that allow you to transpose runes."

"You're a bloody genius!" Ron announced, holding the now-calm book as far away from his face as he could manage, just in case it was playing some kind of trick on him, and trying to catch him unaware.

"Hermione," Harry said, putting his hands on her shoulders. "You are the absolute best! I love you!" He kissed her square on the lips. Ron started to protest, but before he could, Hermione had fainted dead away.

"Well," Ron said evenly, "looks as though you've gotten the kissing bit down."

Harry had managed to fit all the manuals Kingsley had given him, and the actual books were safely destroyed in the bargain. The regular schoolbooks were in the same books he'd started the year with. They worked, and they didn't destroy anything, so Harry didn't see the need to change things.

"I can't wait to start the spells," Ron said.

"Excuse me?" Harry hadn't been paying attention...he'd been lost in a daydream involving quite a bit of gold glitter.

"Temporalism, mate. I'm ready for more than loads of reading."

"I think this second half is going to stink, frankly," Harry replied. He counted off their big projects on his fingers. "We've got full body transfiguration, advanced charms, a really big potions thing...and all that stuff for Temporalism."

"You've got the charms down," Hermione said imperiously. "What do you think we were doing all that time? Sigillus runes are definitely hard enough. Besides, you can make a patronus...it's not like you _need _to fall back, but that's something to fall back on, anyway." Harry had considered that already. He very much felt that 'falling back' on something like the Patronus was _exactly_ what he needed, but he wasn't going to tell Hermione that. It gave hime time for things like Quidditch, as petty as it sounded. That was a good thing, because the Ravenclaw versus Slytherin match was coming up.

The match was on a Saturday, when it was still brutally cold. As happy as Harry was to be watching a Quidditch match, it also meant that the winter holiday was coming to an end, and he would soon be back to schedules and texts. It was just too bad that they hadn't had any warm days since the week he had gotten his motorbike from Hagrid. This much arctic weather was trying, and everyone was getting a touch of cabin fever, so it was good that they were getting outside, even if it was frosty.

The match was not going well for Ravenclaw. They'd lost Roger Davies, and Cho might have actually been a better Captain, but Davies was a pretty fair chaser.

"Ohh! A goal by Vaisey, who has been running wild on this Ravenclaw squad. Stew Ackerley is just not having things go his way!" Owen's voice was so magnified by the magical loudspeaker that Harry felt his bowels shaking and his stomach rumbling.

"Sytherin is now up by 160 points. Captain and Seeker Cho Chang has a decision to make now. On the one hand, if she captures the Snitch, the game is over and she can attempt--great save there by Ackerley--on the one hand, she can end the game. On the other, she can draw the game out and give her chasers more time to work. It'll all boil down to how much faith she has in her team.

"Another score for Slytherin! That looks like Zabini, in on reserve. Ravenclaw takes it down the pitch, and Pucey steals...he's coming back! What a great save for Ackerley, but it looks like he's come up injured. Yes...it appears as though he took a Quaffle off the fingertips. In this cold, that has to smart! Looks like Chang is going to check him out, but she hasn't called for a break in play for the injury yet...And that's why! The snitch was right on her way, and Malfoy looks to have been caught up. His broom is fast, but he's going to have to out-corner her...I don't know if that's going to happen. It looks like Chang is going to give chase to the Snitch."

Harry didn't blame her. Cho did indeed have a tough decision to make, but he'd have done the same thing if he'd have been in her place. Letting the Snitch go could only let Slytherin accumulate more points. Even though Ravenclaw might grind some out, the chances that they'd make up that kind of deficit were small, and the chances that they would sustain another even more serious injury was high. The students of Ravenclaw house had two favorite Quiddich teams; Ravenclaw, and whichever was playing Slytherin. Giving Slytherin more points, and thus a better chance at winning the cup, would be distasteful to any true Ravenclaw.

Sometimes you had to cut your losses.

"It looks like Malfoy isn't going to make it...and Chang has caught the Snitch! Ravenclaw still loses by 20 points, but Chang catches the Snitch." The Ravenclaws and Slytherins congregated in general clumps, surrounded by their various supporters. It resembled a great pair of eyes...one azure, and one a bright green.

"I never thought I'd say this," Ron said, "but I'm ready to get inside and get to some homework. It's just too cold for this, mate."

"No kidding," Harry said, looking around. The Quidditch team was still there...they wouldn't miss a chance to scout out the enemy, and Connor was there, though Harry thought that was because Natalie was still there. Parvati and Lavender didn't view this as a match; they viewed it as intelligence gathering. They sat several rows down, heads together, laughing and pointing. Hermione had long since retired to the castle, and looking around the stands at the spots of bare wood peeking through the mélange of color told Harry that she wasn't alone.

There was a good, cozy fire in there, anyway.

***

"I finished your present a bit late, so I couldn't properly wrap it!" Hermione held out her hand, and in it was a small box, which despite her warning, was immaculately wrapped in reddish-brown paper. Harry took it from her. His cheeks were still flushed from the cold, and it felt as though the chill was deep within his body, as though he was warm on the outside and still frozen on the inside; like a steak that wasn't quite defrosted all the way.

He slowly unwrapped the box, which contained a wad of tissue and a bottle, almost no more than a vial. A surprisingly bright bluish purple flame licked at the sides. Harry looked up, confused.

"It's ah…for help with your potions…your _other_ potions. It may not always be convenient to carry a candle around."

It occurred to Harry that she was probably tired of him being creepy, but this was a gift; it wasn't polite to bring up something like that.

"It'll be nice to have that on the bureau," Ron remarked. He was like a third arm when it came to getting him away from Hermione. "I've worried before that you might drift off and burn down the castle."

"I doubt that would happen," Hermione said seriously, "if you'd ever taken the time to read _Hogwarts: a History_-"

"I haven't though, and I never will," Ron said, "I mean, I'm _at_ Hogwarts and you've read it. Why should I waste valuable studying time to do that?"

"_Valuable studying time?_ How gullible do you think I am?"

"Gullible enough to believe that," Harry chipped in. Ron gave him a dirty look.

"While we're on the subject of gullible, what's this I hear about you selling special quills?" Hermoine said sweetly. Harry and Ron weren't taken in so easily.

"You saw those," Ron said, after a pause. "I seem to remember you telling me it was quite a nice bit of enchanting."

"Yes, well, that was before I saw on of the _extra special_ ones." She held up a piece of paper.

_Je suis un ballot. J'ai le baton._

_"_I don't speak French," Harry said, matter-of-factly.

_"I _do. And that's not polite," Hermione shot back.

"Wha--" Ron started.

"Never mind!" Hermione snapped. "Look. The quill you showed me was fine...work with me here. Whatever wrote _this,_" she waved the scrap of parchment, "tell your brothers to think of people like Neville who may be writing nasty things to their pen pals."

"I think that'd be worth seeing, honestly," Ron muttered.

"What?" Hermione said intensely.

"Nothing," both Harry and Ron said loudly. Hermione looked around.

"You are a prefect, Ron, act like it!"

***

The next day, classes resumed. It was somewhat depressing to be back to schedules, but at least all they did or the day was review what they'd done the first half of the year. Harry hadn't said anything about it, but he was thinking that Hermione may have been right. He had a short break after Charms, during which he decided that Hermione may have been right. He'd been doing the Patronus since his third year, but he'd already done all the work for the Sigil. It would be harder to do all the work for the Patronus than the Sigillum, since although he could do it, he'd never stopped to think about the Patronus and made it work and he certainly didn't do any reports or special reading ahead of time. At least he'd done a lot of the reading for the Sigil. Hermione would be happy to hear that, but he wasn't going to tell her what his reasons were...let her wonder and be proud.

Harry was on his way back to the common room when he heard the shrieks. The dozen or so students who were in the hall with him stopped and looked around, as if the gleaming suits of armor that were standing silent vigil over the hallway were the source of the improbable racket. Moments later, Filch slid around the corner. His face was very red and what remained of his hair was sticking out in tufts at odd angles. He looked decidedly less than sane to Harry.

"This is your fault!" Filch said, grabbing a handful of Harry's robes.

"What is?" asked Harry genuinely. He had no idea what the man was on about.

"You put that...trap there. Poor Mrs. Norris is injured because of you!"

"I've no idea what you're talking about! I've been in class!"

"Don't lie to me!" Filch shouted roughly, shaking Harry until his spectacles slipped from his face. The next moment the squib caretaker had at least half a dozen wands jabbing him. Most of these students were in Muggle Studies with Harry; and that made them Muggle-born or at least interested in Muggles in some way. That meant most of them were also D.A., and in Harry's mind, they were probably acting more on instinct and trying to defend a fellow student more than Harry specifically. Still, he was glad for the gesture.

"No," Parvati said. She probably _had_ been trying to defend Harry specifically. He still hadn't forgotten the night in the Common room. She probably could have gotten the drop on almost anyone that night. "We've been in class until just now, like Harry said."

"I...I'll tell Dumbledore!"

"We'll tell him that you attacked a student!" Parvati said, jabbing him with her wand. Filch huffed and puffed, but he didn't shake Harry any more. Slowly, he lifted his hands from Harry's robes.

"I know you all did it. Think you know it all! I'll be watching you. I'll be watching!"

"You should have been watching before," Lavender said, in a rare clever moment for her. "You might have caught who was really doing it!" Lavender was not otherwise quick thinking, and she seemed a little surprised at herself. Filch backed away slowly, muttering under his breath.

"Nutter," Parvati pronounced.

"Without a doubt," Susan Bones announced.

"What's his problem, anyway?" Lavender mused. In a few moments, her question was answered, as Ginny informed them that Mrs. Norris had wandered into some sort of gimmick that had covered her feet with a sticky tar. She'd been in the infirmary when Filch had brought her there, desperate and babbling about the vast number of students who'd had it in for Mrs. Norris.

"Well, that is too bad that an innocent victim has to pay for someone's prank," Hermione said, trying to be diplomatic.

"That's right, and she's the only thing standing between Hogwarts and You-Know-Who's army of killer rodents," Seamus added. They all laughed, even Hermione.

The following day was potions, and as it was the new year, they were set to start on their N.E.W.T. preparatory potions. Snape had reviewed with them the details of their year six project. Harry had heard it all before...they would have to create a complex potion that they hadn't studied before and that they wouldn't study in class. It must have at least three distinct stages, and it must be submitted with an attendant paper explaining why each component was used, and the implications of using a wrong component, or preparing the right one improperly. He'd ominously stated that they'd have to try the potions on themselves. Harry had decided on the binding potion mentioned in Lupin's animagus manuals. It looked complex, but not overly difficult...at least he somewhat understood the idea behind it, and it didn't have a high likelihood of killing him if he did it wrong. Hermione was planning on Wolvesbane potion, and Neville actually seemed to cause some curiosity with his choice. Snape would never in a million years admit that he was in any way interested in what a Gryffindor was doing, and especially when it came to Neville Longbottom, but he did seem intrigued the tiniest bit by the Aztec Ghost Potion. Hermione certainly was. Thursday they would have to start the actual potions.

The next day, Professor Walken showed them something that he had hanging on the wall for the entire year.

"This is a 'causality cloak'. It shows what a tangled life we live by showing us just how much other people impact us." The 'cloak' was actually made from tiny chain links. It was mostly a dull silver in color, but marbled throughout with other colors, and Harry saw shades of blue, red, gold, and green winding their way through the links.

"The colors you use are up to you, and I would suggest that you choose no more than three or four friends, as it would quickly become unwieldy. Mine is quite complex...you simply won't have the time or probably the inclination to do more. As it stands, we'll have you use enchanted thread rather than chain links. I think some of you will be surprised at what you find." Harry pointedly looked at Ron, who had been excited to get on with the practical end. It was immediately in his mind that he would have Ron and Hermione on his cloak. The only question was whether it would look like an actual jagged lightning bolt, which is what the professor's resembled. At the end of the lesson, Professor Walken called him over.

"Harry, I think you should consider putting You-Know-Who on your cloak."

"Are you nuts? I hate him!"

"Watch your mouth, Mister Potter," said Professor Walken sanguinely. It didn't sound like he was being scolded. "I merely think that it may benefit you to see how much he impacts your life."

"I _know _how much!" Harry insisted.

"Do you now? You can look back and see the direction he has pushed you towards, for better or for worse? It may help you to understand how much he impacts your life...how he has altered the course of your personal history through his interaction with you." Harry didn't look impressed. "You may be taking this the wrong way, Harry. What it sounds like is a suggestion--_You may want to include You-Know-Who_--something to consider. It's not. I am telling you to put him there. You need to see what comes as a result of your knowing him. Consider that part of your assignment, Mister Potter." If there was anything Harry didn't want, it was proof that Voldemort had changed him in some way, and he thought briefly of blowing the assignment off. His desire to be the dedicated student was seriously wearing thin. In the end, Harry agreed just to get Walken off his back.

That night, he was talking to Parvati in the common room about how "official" their relationship was. Lavender was somewhat angry, presumably because it was somewhat less satisfying to get the gossip directly from the source. Harry had the feeling that if he was dating anyone else, Ginny for example, she would have been much happier, because then most of what she knew would come from sources she was used to trusting. When everything came from Parvati's mouth, who knew what she could trust?

"Are you certain you're okay with this time thing?" Parvati asked, "I mean, you don't feel left out or anything?"

"Of course I'm fine with it!" he said, and hugged her tightly. Frankly, it was about perfect for him. He got the snogging without having to worry about keeping her entertained, and apparently she was happy enough to do her thing and give him his space. He'd even be fine with her being much more clingy than she was, to be honest. Now that he was being eased into the world of women, it was as if his feet were wet and the water was no longer cold. Dean chose this moment to hurry by at a trot.

"Get a room, eh?"

"Bugger off!" Harry said. "Just because Ron flips out every time you touch Ginny…"

Dean laughed and continued through the painting in a fit of coughs.

"Do you want to go for a walk?" Parvati asked.

"I'd...I'd really like that."

"You know," she said, guiding him into a disused classroom that looked to be full of old telescopes, "I'm really not just looking for a place to chew on each other, if that's what you're thinking." That's what Harry _was_ thinking, but he was smart enough to act otherwise. He shrugged, hoping to play it off.

"What's on your mind?" He asked, somewhat nervously. Parvati must have caught it because she immediately smiled, placing an arm on his shoulder.

"It's nothing bad, Harry. I just wanted to ask you if you'd time to consider this."

"This?" He said uncertainly.

"This," she waved her hand around. "This dating. I mean, it's going to take a brave woman to fend off the kind of gossip you're going to generate if people think you're involved with someone. I mean, think of Hermione and all the _Prophet _put her through."

"So what you're saying is going out with me would be like social suicide?"

"No," Parvati said, flashing a dazzling smile. "It would just take a brave, brave woman."

"Ah. Know any?"

"Well, I heard that there's an entire house devoted to the brave ones."

"Yeah?"

"Indeed," she snuggled closer, "the bravest of the brave, you could say."

At that very moment, the door to the classroom flew open and a weak stream of light spilled into the room, silhouetting a scrawny figure in the doorway. Through sheer luck, Harry and Parvati were in the darkest corner of the room, and hadn't yet been spotted. Filch took several steps into the room, and Harry silently blessed the unknown perpetrator who'd burnt Mrs. Norris's feet. Had she been there, they would have been discovered for sure. Parvati whipped an object out of her blouse, and even though they were in very deep trouble, Harry had time to think very pleasant thoughts about what was coming next. They all turned out to be wrong, however; as what happened next defied imagination.

Parvati activated the SkyBall, which immediately cast the room into almost total darkness. Had it been one of the cheaper models, the stars would have been created by pinpoint projection, and the SkyBall would have been plainly visible as the source of the disturbance. You got what you paid for though, and the real deal didn't create its stars by measly projection....it would have stopped serious stargazers from being able to see the stars that were projected on their persons.

"My, my," Filch drawled, pausing. Outside the ball of darkness he could still see in, but one he got inside it, he wouldn't be able to see much of anything. "We are in for it now, aren't we? I can hear you; no need to pretend you aren't up to no good…headmaster will have a field day…yesssss." Parvati's ear was directly in front of Harry's mouth, and he whispered to her, not even loud enough for him to hear over his own beating heart.

"Close your eyes, and when I say, deactivate the SkyBall."

He waited what he hoped would be long enough, raised his wand, and tightly squeezing shut his eyes, whispered in her ear. Immediately after, he muttered an incantation that he'd learned from George Weasley. There was a loud _pop_ and a blinding flash of light, and Harry ran for all he was worth, pulling Parvati along behind him. She was surprisingly quick, and didn't need much encouragement from him to keep moving. They dashed by the momentarily blinded Filch and tore through the hallways at a breakneck pace, looking for a door, any door, that may be available. Harry considered another bubble, but before he could get his wand from his pocket, Parvati dragged him through a narrow door and into a broom closet.

"Ow!" cried a very familiar feminine voice. A moment later, Dean's soft, deep whisper spoke up.

"Filch?"

Harry nodded before he remembered it was pitch black. He could see the vaguest of shapes, but he had a feeling that was because of Neville's concoction, and that the others were most likely blind. To test his theory, he waved his hand in front of Dean's face, and then Ginny's. Neither reacted, and Harry quietly guided Parvati around a pile of boxes and a mop and bucket.

"When I told you to get a room, I didn't mean this one!"

"Yeah…er…so hold on then, what are you four up to?"

"Nothing," Connor said, trying to sound innocent and failing.

"Harry," Dean said pleadingly, "you won't tell Ron, will you?"

"Tell him what? I didn't see anything." This was true…Harry was lucky to see the lumpy shapes of boxes and buckets. Dean and, he supposed, Ginny, were merely shadowy blobs.

They hurried back the Gryffindor common room, and entered as a group, which Harry knew they shouldn't have done as soon as the painting opened. A voice he knew all too well echoed throughout the cavernous space.

"What _are_ you doing? Thomas? Weasley? MacDonald? Colier? _Patil? Potter?_ Exactly _what_ is going on here? Hm? Speak up!" Harry noticed something on Connor's neck, and nudged Natalie. She glanced at him, and he looked at Connor's neck in what he hoped was a meaningful way. Natalie, who was nearly too short to see what Harry had been looking at, artfully maneuvered herself into a better position. She winced and glanced at Hermione, who was still berating them. Dean must have seen it too, because he was alternating between looking properly ashamed and trying not to laugh. "Thomas? _What's_ so funny?"

"Nothing, ma'am," Dean managed, choking back laughter at the American, who was surely about to get caught. Then, with resounding crack, Natalie stepped forward and slapped Connor on the neck.

"Damn, woman! What the hell are you doing?"

"And let _that_ be a lesson to you," she pronounced smugly, turning to Hermione. "Naturally, I wasn't involved." She stepped gracefully by the brown-haired prefect.

Hermione's mouth didn't say anything, but the look on her face was one of stunned disbelief. As she turned to watch Natalie slip by, the rest of the group dispersed as quickly and quietly as they could. By the time she looked back, everyone was hard at work looking busy someplace else. Connor had chased Natalie, and a moment later the siren started. A red-faced Connor returned, and Harry noticed that the entire side of his neck was bright red. He had to give Natalie credit…she was quick thinking.

***

That Tuesday, Harry awoke early in the morning to the smell of burning wood. He knew what that meant....his bedside bureau had again been defiled. After checking to see that the rest of the room was asleep, he tugged on his glasses and attempted to see what was written there, by the light of Hermione's flame in a bottle. This time there was a limerick, which he mouthed as he read it.

_There once was a fellow from Surrey_

_With saliva that tasted like curry..._

He paused as the rest was rather rude. A breath on his ear made him jump and spin. Connor was there, and Harry came within a hair of _stupefying _him.

"I'm sorry," Connor said. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"Just....watch who you're bloody sneaking up on." Harry exhaled.

"That's fresh. I can smell it."

"I noticed," Harry replied. It doesn't look good that you're the only one awake."

"No...I suppose not. Do you think I did it?"

"You'd have to be crazy to," Harry replied, almost mentioning that he had runes on his area. "Could you hand me that bottle?" he said slowly, pointing at the flame in a vial. He was easily close enough to grab it himself, and Connor looked at him as though he was crazy. He handed it over though, confirming Harry's suspicions.

Conner didn't set off the wards.

Harry was sure that he and Ron had set them up right, because Ron had set them off before. Connor had either found a way around them, or they were no longer active, which Harry couldn't test until morning. He lay down, staring at the flame dance and twist, giving him an excuse for asking for the bottle and ignoring Connor. Something about the American was very wrong; it had always been wrong, and tonight had simply brought it to the front of Harry's mind: When it came to keeping track of him, Connor couldn't be trusted.


	20. Chapter 20 The Casualties of Causality

**Chapter 20 - The Casualties of Causality**

Harry awoke early, and moved the cards off of the dirty poem, which had been scored into top of his bureau. They covered it exactly. This led him to wonder if whoever had done it had arranged it so the deck hid their creation. It would have worked perfectly; then Harry chanced to move the cards. If Harry hadn't awakened last night, there was no telling how long he would have gone without noticing something wrong. He left the poem on there for now...it was creative, albeit dirty; and he thought he might be able to find a use for it.

Potions was both harder in a way, because they were into their N.E.W.T. projects, and easier in a way, because Snape expected them to work quietly. It was something Harry found possible when the potions master wasn't hovering over him all the time. A week from today, next Thursday, he would have to sample the potions, and judge its readiness based on its resemblance to the juice of a ripe pomegranate.

Harry had never tasted the juice of a ripe pomegranate, so that definitely would be interesting.

The causality cloak was well under way by Friday. The idea was that most of the cloak would be the same color, with a sort of a wonky line representing the maker, and three or four other lines representing other people. The point was that the students could then see when other people had an effect on their lives, which although Harry didn't actually want to know, seemed to be happening. When done properly, the line that represented the creator was jagged, not like Harry's scar, but like a true bolt of lightning.

He had decided to put in Ron and Hermione of course, and he was forced to put in Voldemort; but as a last minute whim, he added Parvati. He was mildly curious to see if she had a tremendous effect on him.

The cloaks were able to go back a number of years; Professor Walken even claimed that they could go to well before a person was born, if one did it right. Harry decided not to test that, stopping at his first birthday. The cloaks had just started to turn colors, so Voldemort's green thread had only just appeared and had yet to intersect with his red one.

It would take several more weeks for the cloak to catch up with his past and get on with his present, but he had an idea... Assuming he knew when Voldemort had attacked him, and how; he should be able to undo the changes...He would know for certain where the man would be, after all. Hadn't he long wished that he could go back and change it? Well, maybe this was what Dumbledore had intended all along! He always knew deep down inside he couldn't go back, but now maybe he could.

His book, which was obviously not a book written for school-aged witches and wizards, said that it was not possible, but it was an unsatisfying answer in Harry's mind. He knew there was a book from the restricted section in the library that they had used for one or two days of class, one that they had been allowed to look at briefly but not study intently, because it catalogued what Walken had called "dangerous misconceptions" about how to cheat the nature of causality, which, at least according to his book, was the primary reason he couldn't go back. Harry had to figure out a way around that, and he could go back. Then he _could_ save his parents. He could even possibly help defeat Voldemort, with knowledge from the future. He was antsy the rest of the day, just waiting for the opportunity to get to the book.

After D.A. was over, he almost ran back to the common room. It was imperative that no one discover what he was up to: He knew Hermione would shoot down anything that had to do with defying an authority to attempt something magical above and beyond what a teacher said. It would end up being like Molly Weasley's reaction to his birthday gift all over again.

Harry could hear it now. "_These kinds of things are forbidden for a reason, Harry...Professor Walken is an expert, Harry...Awful things happen to wizards who muck about with time, Harry._" His last experience "mucking about" with time had saved Sirius's life, not to mention Buckbeak, so he didn't need or want a lecture from Hermione.

Ron was another story. Temporalism was actually a class he was very good at, and Harry knew Ron had a tremendous amount of respect for Professor Walken. While his friend was game for a little rule-breaking any other time, Harry thought it very possible that Ron would side with Hermione on this one, though he couldn't even imagine what Ron would say. Being top in a class was so out of character for him that it would make him truly unpredictable.

Harry passed through Defense against the Dark Arts in a fog, imagining what he'd say to his parents when he got the chance...If it took him a month, six months, or even years and tears, he'd get back to his parents. After all, time wasn't something that could be a barrier to this project. He was disappointed with himself for not coming up with it sooner....he could fix so much! It generally all boiled down to his parents dying, however. He could go further back and expose Pettigrew for what he was before he'd been made a secret keeper...or even further and try to stop Tom Riddle from becoming Voldemort...it was hard to decide where to begin, and he occupied himself with thoughts of what he'd change, if he could, for the better part of the afternoon. D.A. went smoothly, although if his plan succeeded tonight he could save them all the risk.

After class, Harry pulled the map from its hiding place in his chest, and readied his invisibility cloak, which he kept in his school bag. Sneaking around alone was new to him, so he spent a long time staring at the map and trying to pinpoint all the little dots in relation to his path...It was going to be a gamble for sure.

When Harry did finally make his way to the library, he realized that in his haste he hadn't waited nearly long enough, and there would still be students studying at the long tables. Parvati was there, and Harry was very tempted to sit next to her and clue her in on his exploits, or possibly just forget them for the night. He stood behind her long enough to see that she was alternating back and forth between an ancient runes text and a catalog. It might have been the same one Harry ordered the SkyBall from, now that he focused on it, but she was looking at quills and the SkyBall was nestled on its chain which hung invitingly low. The quills she was looking at were special glowing models, designed for taking notes at night or in the dark. Harry committed the page to memory; Parvati's birthday was sometime in May, though he wasn't sure when, and it seemed a little premature to be getting her a gift now, when they might not even be together then.

The restricted section was fairly easy to get into. In spite of its name, it was generally left open because students quite often needed access to a book inside. Under the cape, it was a matter of avoiding the students who were in there while finding the large, blue book. Its golden lettering would help set it apart...many of the books here were so old or subdued that a flash of color was just what was needed to set them apart. After at least forty minutes of searching, he found what he was looking for. He found it tougher to balance the book, map, cloak, and still do the general motivating than he had anticipated, however, and as he spun around a Slytherin, he stepped on the edge of the cloak and yanked it off his head.

The map and cloak fell to the ground. He just happened to run into Minerva McGonagall, and that was when his luck ran out.

"Potter!"

"Professor!" he spat, startled. He was still holding the book - _Stealing Time_ by Aloicious Fugit. She lifted the heavy tome out of his hands and flipped through it.

"You are in very serious trouble, Mister Potter."

"Yes, Professor," he answered numbly. It was really the first time he went out alone, he'd been to busy with schoolwork until now, and he had gotten pinched.

"Pick up your cloak and come with me!"

Harry carefully picked up his cloak so that the Marauders' map would stay hidden. He didn't need to lose that, and he was silently thankful that blind luck had caused the cloak to fall directly on top of the map, concealing it completely. McGonagall walked briskly to one of the reading rooms on the other side of the library. Madam Pince was always on the students about using them to snog in, but they were as good a place as any for your head of house to yell at you.

"What is wrong with you, Potter? What did you think you could accomplish?"

Harry said nothing. He couldn't think of anything that would help him out, at this moment.

"What a wonderful excuse!" McGonagall snapped at last. "Detention, my room, tomorrow! And read your book! Your _text_ book. You wouldn't even be here if you had!"

Harry bowed his head and slunk out. He couldn't even get in trouble for being out after curfew, because it was still early. Not like that mattered. He was in hot water again anyway; why let something like that get in his way?

***

"Detention, Potter?"

"Yes."

"To what do we owe this pleasure?" Snape snidely asked.

Harry decided not to be combative. He couldn't see why anyone would make such a big deal out of it. It's not like they would do any different, if they were in his shoes. He was seriously starting to dislike his Occlumency; not because it wasn't working, but because it may have been, which meant Snape might have been right about something. That was a possibility Harry didn't want to consider. It didn't allow him to hide his detention from Snape, however.

"You are a moron, Potter. Not only did your distress undo a month's worth of near-negligible progress; your idea is laughable."

That made Harry mad, and he snapped back. "Oh, it's laughable to try to save my parents from dying? Laughable to try to stop your lot from causing...who-knows-how-many innocent deaths?"

Snape's eyes narrowed. "Do not attempt to presume you can alter time. The Dark Lord would have annihilated you even faster than your pompous, arrogant father. What has happened has happened. It is an immutable, unchanging fact, and the sooner you get that through your ridiculously thick skull, the better."

"Yah, my mum is dead, and to hell with anything that could change that! It's not like _you'd _ever want to take it back, Mister I'm-so-sorry-I-killed-people. Maybe if you lick Dumbledore's boots enough she'll just walk through the door!" Harry shouted.

Snape crossed his arms and pointed coolly at the door. "Out."

Harry stormed out, so angry that he couldn't even attempt to clear his mind. All he wanted was to make things right, and if it took a little magic that no one would tell him about, he'd do it himself. Maybe it was in the restricted section. Who cared...rules and the idea of forbidden books could go to hell when it came to dealing with Voldemort. The dark wizard was going to kill him anyway, so restricted sections were the least of his problems.

He went through the next day in a dark mood, glaring off anyone who wanted to talk to him. Parvati didn't even try...taking one look had been enough to convince her that he wanted to be left alone. Harry felt bad for that, somewhere deep inside.

His detention was for five that night. It cut short his meeting with Kingsley, which was just as well, since Kingsley was busy anyway, and really just wanted to know what Harry had done with his books. Harry told him with some sense of trepidation.

"Honestly, that's a relief." Kingsley said. "I can always borrow the book they're in if I have to, which I don't expect I will. I might ask you to pay for them, but only because I know you can, and I don't make much as an Auror."

"I can do that," Harry quickly agreed. "Just tell Remus what they cost...he can give you money. I'll cover Hermione's book, too." A hundred galleons worth of books was a small price to pay for information that could save his life. Nothing beat a good disarming charm though. He'd have had to pay that much if he was buying them for Auror training anyway.

"Tell Hermione she's a genius," Kingsley said, examining the book Harry had plopped down carefully and tugging on his earring. The book trembled slightly, but otherwise behaved.

"Oh, if I tell her again, Ron may curse me," Harry remarked. Kingsley looked up questioningly. "May I be excused?" he asked, letting the large black Auror wonder. Kingsley waved him off.

As soon as he could, he hurried to McGonagall's classroom. He didn't want to make her mad. Somewhere in his head, in between remaining resolutely angry with Snape and feeling bad for how short he had been with Parvati, he was still thinking about where to get the kind of trinket he needed to go back fifteen years. McGonagall was at her desk, and rose immediately when Harry entered. He inwardly prepared him for the worst....he hoped she wasn't still as furious as she had been the night before.

"Harry, sit down." This was not what he expected at all. Harry was taken aback by Professor McGonagall's soft tone and sudden use of his first name. When he looked, he realized she looked tired, and exceptionally sad. He sat immediately.

"I'm going to tell you a story," she said, and then, with a flash of the McGonagall Harry knew well, quickly added, "if you can keep your mouth shut. Can you do that?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said immediately, his curiosity piqued. Professor McGonagall paused for several moments, collecting her thoughts or perhaps simply to compose herself.

"Long ago, when I was still a student here, I met an extraordinary young man. He was magically powerful and very intelligent; very curious. He, like I, was a Gryffindor, though he worked as had as anyone I ever met. Almost as hard as Miss Granger, and that's saying something. I don't think he was as intelligent as she, though he may have had more…well…what some would call wisdom. His name…I cannot tell you that, Mister Potter, but for now it won't matter."

Harry nodded, and Professor McGonagall watched him silently as if she was appraising his thoughts.

"Does it seem odd to you that he wasn't in Hufflepuff with all of the other hard-working students? Or Ravenclaw with those who are mentally gifted?" She leaned forward over towards Harry and dropped her voice a bit.

"He could have even been a Slytherin. He was quite ambitious." She paused again, looking down at her wand, which she had been absentmindedly rolling in her fingers.

"_Quite_ ambitious. Does it surprise you that a man that driven by knowledge was in Gryffindor?"

"No," Harry said, thinking of the time when the sorting hat revealed that it placed him in Gryffindor because he asked it to. It had taken considerable pride in informing him that he might have made an excellent Slytherin.

Professor McGonagall continued. "Sometimes we wondered, as we often do. Look at Pettigrew. How that conniving rat ever got into Gryffindor -- but I digress, Potter.

"Regardless of where he truly belonged, he was placed in Gryffindor. We knew each other quite well by the time I was in my fourth year, so I was one of the first to discover his interest in Temporalism. In those days, Dippet was the headmaster, and when he discovered the infatuation with time magic, he was not amused. It is a complex magic, full of subtle intricacies and quite dangerous, even in the hands of a professional. It was nearly unthinkable to allow those studies to fall to an amateur. However, there was another student at that time that was quite remarkable, and he _was_ a Slytherin. Do you know of whom I speak?" Harry did.

"Lord Vol-" He began, but professor McGonagall cut him off.

"At that time, he was known simply as Tom. I must admit I am somewhat shocked that you know to whom I refer. I only just learned the truth from Professor Dumbledore myself. And an impressive student he was; well-liked, talented, ambitious, and very, very intelligent. More so than perhaps anyone who has walked these halls, before or since, teachers and students alike."

Harry nodded, because he had heard Dumbledore say something to that effect himself.

"Dippet was quite accommodating to young Tom, and when my friend convinced Tom to research time magic as well, Dippet relented."

"Vol-" Harry caught himself with a stern look from Professor McGonagall, "Tom knew Temporalism?"

"I sometimes think there was very little Tom _didn't_ know. Regardless, he was quite keen on it for a short span of time, until he discovered that the universe, or at least that aspect of it, would not be easily bent to his will; that like all others, he was subject to causality...he was culpable. Do you know what that means?"

"No," Harry answered, though he thought he'd heard the word before.

"That he, like you or I, or Professor Dumbledore, or anyone you could name could not escape the consequences of our actions...I believe Professor Walken is fond of calling them 'the chains that bind.' In the end, Tom decided it was not for him. My friend of course continued on, though I have to wonder if Tom Riddle didn't perhaps allow him to continue, using him as a resource, allowing him to do all the work with a Slytherin's eye for when the potential rewards would be ripe for reaping."

Professor McGonagall stopped, and looked at the hem of her robes. "I suppose that's neither here nor there." She seemed to grow sterner. "And now the only person to ever survive Tom's wrath is meddling with time! Trying to cheat the most fundament rule of time magic!"

"I-"

"I don't want to hear it!" she interrupted Harry. "You're not the only one who knows a little something about it!"

Harry's temper, which he had so far kept in check, suddenly rose to his lips. "Then why would Dumbledore allow me to take the stupid thing in the first place? If Dumbledore thinks that it's possible, there must be some way of…of…" Of what? But Harry did not finish. He expected Professor McGonagall to snap at him, but she did not.

"Of course Professor Dumbledore knows what you're up to. He's no idiot. He simply chose to allow you to ascertain the truth on your own. There are other benefits to Temporalism; you have proven to be quite proficient, by all accounts, and in any event, Professor Dumbledore has discovered that you don't take kindly to those who would tell you that something cannot be done. The problem, Harry, is that in this case, it's not a matter of whether the action is permissible. It is simply not possible. They are gone, Harry, and not even time magic can bring you to them or them to you."

"I don't believe you," Harry heard himself say, though some of the bits of information from Professor Walken's classes were starting to arrange themselves into something that made more sense. Professor McGonagall sighed and tugged at a silver chain around her neck. She removed her hat and slipped it over her head, and placed it firmly in Harry's palm.

It was a time turner.

"This one is a bit different than the one I loaned Miss Granger. It runs a half-minute to the turn. Hold it in front of you, and turn it forward to go forward, and backward to go back. Well, go on then!"

Harry began to turn the tiny hourglass, then paused, looking up and Professor McGonagall. What if it didn't work? What if he had been deluding himself all along? What if Professor Walken had been telling him the truth all along, and he _couldn't_ go back? What would happen then? Would he be lost somewhere, stuck between times? Would he be injured, or even die?

"And here you are Potter, thirty seconds later and no time traveling to be found."

"But…"

"_Causality,_ Potter. You didn't appear in this room thirty seconds ago, looking at yourself, did you?"

"No," said Harry, glumly beginning to understand why Voldemort had deemed the magic largely useless for his purposes. Miss McGonagall glared at him, and he realized for the first time that she was no longer taller than he was.

"In precisely forty five seconds, I want you to use the time turner exactly as before." Seconds after she finished saying this, another Harry appeared next to her, staring doggedly at an object in his palm. A look of grim resolution lined his face. He glared at his seated self, but did not speak. The seated Harry arose and stepped warily forward, examining himself with all the meticulous attention that said he didn't believe what he was seeing. Of course, he _did_ believe what he was seeing…he'd even see it again, but it was certainly odd to see yourself standing there in front of you, looking back. It seemed a bit unreal to be wondering what the future Harry, the 30-second-from-now Harry, was thinking. As he watched, his future self held out the time-turner, nodding at his younger self.

"Well, go on then," his older self said. Harry looked more closely at the time-turner in his hand. It was a fine, slightly tarnished silver and the "sand" appeared to be bits of gold and something deep red – possibly rubies. Something was engraved on it, but he couldn't make it out. He looked closer and tipped it in the light.

_Tempus_ something. He tipped it further, and was suddenly spinning in reverse. When he looked up again, he was staring at another Harry, who was seated at a desk and looking at him apprehensively. Time travel was confusing, and now he knew why he had been warned not to confront the past version of himself in his third year... Now he understood; causality wasn't a rule to prevent him from going back, it was simply a word to describe how things were...not a suggestion, but a fact.

As quickly as it had come on, this idea escaped his mind. When he had saved Sirius (and even himself) from the dementors, he had even seen himself. He head definitely lived through it though, and when he and Hermione had gone through it the second time, he found himself doing the things that he had already _seen_ himself do.

Harry bowed his head, and remained silent.

"Do you see now why I'm concerned, Potter?"

"Yes ma'am," Harry answered glumly.

"Am I going to have to talk to you again?"

"No ma'am." Something occurred to him. "About the lake..."

"I would appreciate it if you kept your mouth shut about that. One could even say you owe it to me!"

Harry wasn't sure what to make of that. He decided to do as Dumbledore suggested, and simply stared at her.

It worked, because McGonagall continued. "Even the best spells can only do so much...It can take the years from me, but they always return. He had an accident you know...used the wrong spell. That's the power you're dealing with, Potter: He isn't capable of aging normally. He started working on a spell to reverse the damage forty years ago. Five years ago, he admitted failure. He was near deciding something rash, I'm afraid. Between the two of us and two of our friends currently in America we redirected our efforts...perhaps if he couldn't end the effect the time magic had on him, we could reverse the aging on....the people we care about. That was actually much easier, even though we knew that it couldn't be permanent, or even long-term."

Harry realized that she was talking about Professor Walken, and with a start, he realized he'd be wrong about Minnie. It wasn't a daughter or niece at all; it was _her_.

"I won't tell anyone," he said. In his current state of mind, the irony of her situation wasn't lost on him. Walken was a master at temporalism, probably one of the world's foremost authorities, and yet time had cheated him and McGonagall...The one thing he had the most control over was the one that had cost him the most.

McGonagall looked up as if she didn't know where she was; then gradually retained her normal composure.

"Go on, Potter. If you can tell me you've given up on this; and that you're done trying to cheat causality, then you've been here long enough."

"I can...I mean...yeah. I'm not sure what I mean. I think I get it now."

"And not a word about...?"

"No," Harry said. "That's none of my business." Harry rose, packing his bag and straightening his chair. McGonagall remained where she was, her head down and eyes fogged over. It was obvious, even to him, that she was deep in thought. She nodded weakly. At the door, Harry stopped and turned. "I'm glad you figured something out." Professor McGonagall glanced up, with a dazed look on her face.

"Excuse me?"

"With Professor Walken. I'm glad you figured something out. I just wanted something like that...but with my parents...I guess." She nodded, and Harry knew the conversation was over.

When he got back to the common room, Parvati was waiting for him on the couch.

"It's Friday night - date night." Harry hadn't been on anything he could officially classify as a date, other that the ball. He wasn't averse to the idea, though.

"Can you give me a minute?"

"Of course. I'm glad you're not so moody today."

"Me too," he answered. He shot up the stairs and went straight to his chest. The marauders' map was near the top. Harry wasn't surprised to see McGonagall and Walken were together...it would take some getting used to if he was going to think of him as an old man....older than McGonagall even...but it was somehow a comforting idea. Harry was much more comfortable learning a complex and dangerous magic from someone who'd been around, versus someone his age, which is how he'd thought of Walken before. Parvati was sitting where he'd left her, on a lounge immediately in front of the stairs. There was only so much of a date you could have in an empty classroom, but he was willing to suffer for a good cause.

Harry spent almost the whole weekend with Parvati, since he was afraid that he'd been ignoring her. He knew she hadn't been expecting much out of him, but he still felt guilty for it. They would have gone to Hogsmeade together if they'd the chance, but since the visits were canceled, the best they could manage was the odd secluded hallway or room, and sitting next to each other in the great hall. At first Harry tough it was going to be an ordeal, and they _did_ get their share of looks, but after the Saturday, they were already old news. By Sunday evening, no one seemed interested enough to give them more than a cursory glance.

"I know who Minnie is!"

"What?" Parvati was leaning against him on a lounge. Beside her, Lavender perked up slightly.

"I found out who Minnie is, Harry repeated. "I talked with Miss McGonagall today, during my detention." He had Parvati's rapt attention now, and she sat up with anticipation.

"Her daughter?" Harry shook his head. "Her niece?" Parvati ventured.

"No relation...It's just an old friend of his, that he went to school with," he said a bit louder than he needed to. The best part was that he had avoided telling a lie.

"But she looks as young as we do!"

"He specializes in time magic...she's almost as old as he is. Takes some of the thrill out of it, I'm afraid, doesn't it?" Parvati slumped back, digesting this, then nodded despondently.

"If it's true. Are you sure about this?"

"It came from McGonagall herself. She asked me to keep mum, so you know..."

Parvati nodded. Lavender made no such promise though, and unless Harry missed his guess, that would keep people too busy to bother McGonagall with stupid questions for a while. Parvati and Lavender weren't the only gossips in Hogwarts. Harry was counting on Lavender to leak the word to one of the other ones...on in a different house...Gryffindor students were naturally a little wary of perpetuating gossip that had anything to do with McGonagall. It would be akin to spreading tales about Snape for a Slytherin or Flitwick for a Ravenclaw.

For a long time, Harry wondered how people like Lavender could be considered the bravest of the brave. Then, after he thought about it, he realized that there were different kinds of brave, and that being able to talk freely about anyone might have been one of them. His aunt may have called it _cheek_, but nonetheless, it was bravery. It was now possible to see how Dumbledore had been right when he had talked about all the different ways in which one could be brave; when he was talking about Neville in their first year.

Monday, their causality cloaks were nearly a quarter caught up with their lives, for most of them. The line for Voldemort was obvious for him, because there was Harry'a, a relatively stable, deep red one, then Voldermort's, a sickly green, and the point at which they met skewed both lines dramatically. Harry knew that he had been a perpetual thorn in the side of the dark wizard, but it was nice to see just how much of an impact he had...it made him feel much more important. Whereas his line was simply skewed off to the side a bit; Voldemert's was genuinely messed up. It was starting to come back towards his, and Harry knew that eventually, they would intersect again, at the end of his first year. That would be more that a week away though, so for now, his cloak was very uninteresting. Ron's was quite striking, as he'd added the twins, which were generally one line, and also Ginny. He had quite a few things going on already.

"I heard what you did," Walken said, pulling him aside. Harry didn't really want to talk about it, with Walken, McGonagall, or anyone else.

"It won't happen again," he sighed. "I get it now."

"Let me show you something..." Walken walked back to the table where his cloak had been spread out and tapped it with his wand. Immediately, a brownish-red thread began to creep from the edge. Its progress was slow but measurable.

"You can give that a look at the end of the week."

"What did you do?" Hermione asked. She had a very beautiful cloak with her parents on it, so it had intricately intertwined lines already starting. It didn't look like simple thread either, and knowing Hermione, it wasn't.

"You added someone, didn't you?" Ron guessed. Walken nodded.

"If you can't figure it out at the end of the week, I'll tell you," he said. Harry wasn't in the mood for games, and he had decided that he didn't like Walken all that well anyway, so he had nothing to say to him.

The next day, he was supposed to check the potion for progress, but it hadn't changed colors like it should have, so he didn't. There was little he could do other than watch Hermione, Neville, and Connor, so that's what he did. It was slacking of the most impressive type; Snape expected them all to be working on their own, so if they looked remotely busy, he left them alone.

Defense hadn't changed; it was still the same demanding scheme he had started the year with. It was still difficult, and it seemed to be getting harder because Harry was sick of taking so many notes, but at least it was consistently tough. He knew what to expect.

The next day, a notice on the board caught his attention. It wasn't because it was about Chocolate Frog cards; there had always been a list for them. It was because the list was literally so large that it covered up half the cork board. By far, the most common cards were people who were experts in something, though Harry knew that the cards quit working after about two minutes, so he had no idea why. When he saw Ron, his friend was jingling a handful of coins with a smug look on his face.

"What gives?" Harry asked.

"What do you mean?" asked Ron innocently.

"You're walking around with a pocket-full of money, which I'm sure is someone else's." Ron sat down on the lounge, and Harry followed him.

"Remember how I said something big was coming?" Harry nodded. "Well this is it, mate!"

"But how can people ask for a card when they only last for a few minutes? Did they make one that lasts longer?"

"Hardly. There wouldn't be any money in that would there? I mean, if you could just save the cards you want, why would you buy more than one?" That made sense to Harry. "Watch," Ron commanded, pulling a card from his pocket. He used the tip of his quill to pry open the edge of the package, and kept the top pressed down hard, so that the frog inside very likely couldn't even wiggle. He held the package up very close to his eye and peered through the package. "I think that's Morgana. She's not a bad one."

"And that doesn't wear them out?"

"Nope," Ron said. "They aren't even activated until you pop the frog off them."

"So that means that you can pick and choose, then?"

"I was wrong before, mate."

"How?" Harry asked.

"Do you know that these cards are selling for a galleon _a piece, _closed? If you get a good one, you can sell it for four, maybe even five galleons!" Harry whistled softly to himself.

"That's great....really!"

"You're telling me," Ron said. "...And I get half of it! I'm telling you, my problems are over!" Harry thought about it. The money was nice, that was undeniable, but Hermione and Ron had gotten him more than the galleons ever had.

"Just...don't overdo it," Harry advised. Ron frowned.

"Whaddyou mean?"

"I mean, it's been great to have money all the time, but it doesn't always help me out when I need it. That's what Malfoy's problem is, I think; he thinks all the worlds problems are answered with gold." Ron seemed to think about that. He furled his brow.

"So I'm Malfoy, now?" This was quickly turning bad.

"That's now what I meant! I just...."

"I get it. I'm still not as good as you!" Ron had jumped up.

"It's not that..." Harry tried to explain himself.

"So what you're telling me is that the money will make me stupider?"

"That's not what I said, Ron!"

"Forget it. Forget I said anything," Ron said hotly. He stormed up the stairs to the dormitory, passing a confused Connor on the way. Ron almost knocked him over on the way by.

"What's _his_ problem?" Connor asked, at the bottom. Harry was too frustrated to even answer. He was wondering though, and it was a good thing Connor didn't take it personally, or there could have been a major incident on the stairwell.

Thursday, Harry was listless. Hermione had done almost all of his D.A. on Wednesday night with the younger students, and Ron was steadfastly avoiding him. When he'd gone up to the room, Harry found a neat stack of galleons, along with a list of the things he still had that were Ron's. Ron was nowhere to be found, so Harry had to stack everything on his bed. The last thing he wanted to do was have another row with Ron. Hermione didn't talk about it, and Harry didn't push her.

Potions was another matter. Ron wasn't in that class, so at least he could concentrate. That was good, because his binding potion had to be tasted, and Harry was already somewhat nervous about anything he produced under the tutelage of Snape going in his mouth. It looked the right color. With apprehension and with Connor and Neville cheering him on, he first took a sip, then a gulp. It was revolting, and nothing like the pomegranate juice he had talked Dobby into getting him the week before.

"What was that?" Neville asked as Harrry screwed up his face.

"You mean besides me fouling this potion up miserably?" Harry replied.

"No...I saw it too. Was it supposed to glow before you drank it?"

"Glow?" Harry was lost.

"I bet someone switched it!" Hermione said. "It would be easy if they had another potion with them, and a line of sight!" Harry, Connor, Hermione, and Neville all looked around. In the very back to the room sat Malfoy, who was staring intently at his wand. Draco looked up, and was watching him fixedly. After a while, he couldn't resist ribbing Harry.

"Not quite what you thought, eh Potter?"

"What did you do?" Connor rose menacingly. Malfoy seemed to realize he'd said too much, and did his best to ignore them.

"Professor Snape," Hermione said.

"You are a genuine annoyance. What do you want this time, Granger?"

"Malfoy replaced Harry's potion with something strange...Can we go to the infirmary?"

"Did you see it?"

"Well, no," she admitted.

"But we saw the glow!" Neville said.

"Did it look different, smell different...Is he ill?" Harry didn't feel ill. He shook his head slowly.

"Do you have any reason to doubt that Potter is simply an incompetent moron with a sub-standard potion?"

Of course they couldn't object. That very thought was flashing through his mind, and Snape probably literally knew it.

After a moment of silence, Snape continued. "Stop making excuses as to _why_ you made such a miserable potion, and by the next time you come, I expect twelve inches on what you've done wrong. And you'd better get to work on remaking the potion...unless you want me to fail you. Ten points from Gryffindor for telling such ridiculous lies."

"What a crock!" Connor said, later on in the hallway. "You could have died!"

"He wishes," Harry said.

He was mildly surprised that he hadn't turned any colors or started any kind of dribbling. Knowing Malfoy, he could expect _something_.

Harry didn't expect Snape to be looking for him, so he didn't bother to go. No one sent for him, so he didn't figure Snape was anxious for him to be there. No big surprise there. He didn't want Snape peering in his head after he'd just gotten in a fight with Ron. No doubt Snape would just push his buttons anyway.

Friday in temporalism, Harry actually saw something that mildly interested him. The line that Walken had added to the cloak was now clearly visible. It ran along his line until it violently intersected both his and Voldemort's. They all three met in a glorious explosion of color. Ron was even looking, though he was pretending not to.

"Have you figured out who that is yet?" Professor Walken asked quietly. Harry was thinking about it. There was a small list of people even in his life, and an even smaller list of people who affected him and Voldemort. It wasn't hard to guess.

"My mum."

"Right in one, Potter. Do you see why what you wanted to do could be so catastrophic, even if it was possible?" Harry nodded dumbly. He'd already found what Dumbledore had obviously intended for him to find...he knew he couldn't change the past...so why was he still even in the class?

"Some people say the universe has a sort of safety...that causality prevents you from making that kind of mistake because it would shred reality," Walken paused.

Harry didn't give him the satisfaction of an answer. Ron was watching keenly, while pretending to ignore them. His own causality cloak was fairly consistent, after a nice start. The lines wavered slightly, but not overly so; his brothers certainly impacted him, but not in the same way as Harry, Lily Potter, and Voldemort.

The most infuriating thing, other than Ron being a total git, was that McGonagall and Walken were starting to make real sense...the time turner and now causality cloak were going a long way to explain things to him. He hadn't gotten a look at _Stealing Time_ in the restricted section, but he was starting to wonder how one could possibly cheat causality.

That Sunday, Hermione stopped Harry in the common room.

"I don't want to talk about it," he began. "I'm not even mad at..."

"That's not what I wanted to talk about," Hermione interrupted. "Can we go someplace a little more private?"

"Why?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"Look, I need to show you something and Ron will...get unreasonable if he thinks we're in a broom closet snogging or something. Just humor me."

"What about Parvati?" He didn't want to mess up things with her when they were supposed to be going so well.

"I'm not going to touch you, Harry!" She whispered. She raised her voice and almost shouted, and she was certainly loud enough for everyone in the common room to hear.

"Headmaster's office! Now!" She stormed out of the painting hole, and Harry had sense enough to follow her. They walked in the general direction of the headmaster's office until Hermione found a lesser used hallway, and darted down it, rushing into a room full of desks stacked to the ceiling. It certainly looked like a good place to find oneself alone with the former girl-of-his-dreams. Parvati was out there somewhere, though, and Harry fidgeted nervously.

"Really!" Hermione scowled, seeming to read his mind. "Is that all you boys think about?"

"It's hard not to. I mean, you are dying to get me alone."

"Get a clue!" Hermione snapped. "I have something you should see." She reached into her pocket and pulled forth a small, uneven ball. Scored into its side was what Harry eventually recognized as a number - a 5. She dropped it in his palm.

"What am I supposed to do with this?"

"This is practice, like your mother's necklace. I'm doing the same thing for mine, and I wanted everything to work properly."

"So what am I looking at? Is this something about Ron, because..."

"It's not about Ron. You two will have to sort that out." Hermione seemed nervous. That in itself was not unusual, but it probably wasn't a good sign. Harry had experience with this sort of magic though, and while he got a certain amount of voyeuristic glee from seeing memories, he wanted to know what he was getting into.

"What do you know about your mother's pendant?" Hermione started.

"You know more than I do," Harry said. "I know what Flitwick told me...one memory, all that. I assume you've seen it, so what gives?"

"Harry, have you ever noticed anything strange about that...an echo, maybe, or the feeling that you're seeing more than you should...more than you can be?"

"Get to the point, Hermione." In fact, Harry had felt exactly that way, he'd just never been able to put how he felt in words.

"I've been all through that report, and in never says anything about only being able to store one memory. Recall one, yes, but I felt that...that ghost of a memory, Harry, I know you had to as well."

"Perhaps," he admitted. "What's that have to do with this?" He held up the small, misshapen sphere.

"That was going to be more practice for creating my own, but I got the extra memory that your mom had left there and put it in that. It was surprisingly easy, actually..._transferring _memories..."

"Alright," Harry cut her off. "So you're telling me that this was in the pendant?" Hermione nodded slowly.

"Use it, Harry, I think you should see that. I can leave..."

"No. I need you here." Harry couldn't read the look on her face, but somehow he knew he should continue. "Parvati has been great, really, but there're...well...things that just aren't anyone else's business. I can tell you anything. I can tell her a lot, but not quite anything."

Hermione didn't speak for several moments. When she finally did, she took several deep breaths. "You'd better sit down first, Harry."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

That's all for this year. I'll be taking a Christmas break, so the next update probably won't come until January...a whole month without me! Whatever will you do? Don't do anything I wouldn't do, but if you do; name it after me. Thanks to all the readers, even if you don't do reviews.

I leave you with a little Christmas poem I came up with while walking back to the dorms on a cold and snowy night at the University of Northern Iowa:

**The Night Before Christmas (UNI)**

T'was the night before Christmas, the campus was quiet.  
There wasn't a hint of the home coming riot.  
The lots were all empty, the cars were all gone  
There wasn't a print on the snow covered lawn.  
There was no music blaring, No shouts and no yells  
Just the deep rolling chimes of the campanile bells.

Just after eleven, I stepped from my lair,  
I bundled up tightly and slipped down the stair,  
I made my way slowly across to Lang Hall,  
And, looking to heaven, watched pixie dust fall,  
A prismatic halo surrounded the moon,  
The bells in the clock tower struck nighttime's noon.

Deep in my heart I knew something was here  
When voices like thieves deftly slipped past my ear,  
As I made my way west, now mantled in white,  
Snowfall made magic swept ghosts through the night.  
When what should appear to my wondering eye?  
Snowflakes and starlight were sharing the sky!

The twisting mists shaped into faces and clothes,  
In starshine and shadows a ballroom arose,  
To my left, cavaliers, and maids on my right,  
The clock tower's sixth ring throbbed through the night,  
They flitted and twinkled in armor and gown,  
Around me pure moonlight was trickling down.

They twirled in time; they marched in a row,  
They waltzed on the rooftops and sidewalks below,  
As seraphim spun in slippers of glass,  
In dresses of snowflakes with tresses of brass;  
And knights in frost armor rode white flaming steeds,  
They pranced on their hooves and did chivalrous deeds!

As the clock finished striking on midnight's twelfth ring,  
The steeds faded to dust and the angels took wing,  
The wind was just wind and the snow was just snow,  
The temperature dropped back to twenty below,  
And bathed in a silver-white moonbeam alone,  
I bowed my head slowly, and made my way home.


	21. Chapter 21 The Magic of Cups and Balls

**Chapter 21 - The Magic of Cups and Balls**

"Recordatio," Harry muttered. He once again spun into Lily Potter's memories, and was immediately struck by how much more vivid this seemed than the last time he'd used her pendant. He wondered if having two memories stored in the one necklace made that much of a difference.

Harry gazed around in bewilderment. He was in a tower he didn't recognize, one with dark wood pillars holding up the roof, and a low partition running in a circle around the room, creating a sort of room within a room. Five men were in the middle of the tower, and one look out the windows revealed that it was a cloudless night. One he recognized by the blond hair and sharp face; Pettigrew. The rest he didn't know. Harry knew that since this was his mother's memory, she had to be somewhere nearby, and he looked for her. It took him quite a while to find her, because the disillusionment charm she had cast on herself was very good, and in the dim tower she was hardly visible. Certainly no one who wasn't actually looking for her could have known she was there.

The huddle had broken up when Harry wasn't paying attention and Pettigrew wandered over to a solid beam that was almost directly opposite them. He casually started burning something into the wood with his wand. Harry looked in vain for Snape, but the potions master was not in attendance. A large boy with a mane of jet black hair crossed his massive arms.

"You sure you have things straightened out then, Pennygrew?"

"It's Pettigrew," Peter said. At the sound of his voice, Harry bristled.

"It doesn't matter," the larger boy replied. "All you need to know is that life can get very difficult if you don't make the right decisions. So difficult, you might not do it. Know what I mean?"

"We should have brought Snape up here," the thin, weedy looking boy by the stairs said. He too was disillusioned, though the charm hadn't been done nearly as well. While his outline was a bit vague, he wouldn't be hidden from anyone for very long. He'd have to be their look-out then.

"No chance, Nott," the big boy said casually. "He graduates this year, and he already has far too much favor banked with far too many people. Pennygrew here is going to be our insurance package, aren't you?"

Pettigrew nodded, but it was slow, as if he didn't understand what the colossal youth was talking about. "It's 'Pettigrew.' P-E-T-T-" he tried once again.

"Whatever. When Snape gets out of here, he'll be in with the right people already. We have to prove ourselves, and you're going to prove _yourself_ by becoming our inside man, aren't you?" He cracked his knuckles, and Pettigrew hastily nodded again.

"Of course! Of course!" His long blonde hair was drenched in sweat, and flopped feebly.

"And we're going to prove _ourselves_ worthy by giving him Potter and Black."

"What about Lupin?"

"What about him, Avery? We both know he's too soft to be a real inconvenience...he'll probably be the first one to die. Potter and Black are already a thorn in the Dark Lord's side...and we have to let that thorn work its way in deeper. You hear me? No letting them get the better of you...that's how they work...goad you and goad you until something explodes. Let me tell you that if it's one on one, it'll probably be _you_ exploding, especially if it's Black. He may be a blood traitor, but he _was_ a Black, and I know he didn't grow up without learning the very best curses."

Something clicked inside of Harry. That youth looked enough like Sirius to be his brother. It was painful to realize that he could be looking at Regulus Black. He couldn't know until someone called him by name.

"We have to turn them over when they are worth the most to us." The black-haired boy paused looking at Pettigrew. "_All_ of us."

"Wormtail?" a voice drifted up from the stairway below. "Wormtail, you sneaky bastard! I know what you're up to! Put your pants back on....I'm coming up!" There was a rapid series of thumps on the stairwell, and Nott just barely had time to dive to the side, behind a thick column.

"Potter!" hissed Nott from his hideout.

The boy-who-might-have-been-Regulus turned to Pettigrew. "Play along!" murmured the large boy. He reached way back, and timing his swing perfectly, he connected with Peter Pettigrew just as James crested the last stairs.

Pettigrew, who had been punched solidly on the jaw, dropped soundlessly, wand still moving, as if he was trying to cast a spell. James Potter uttered an incoherent scream and rushed into the tower, firing off a brilliant stream of multi-colored light. Harry wanted to shout, he even raised his wand, but of course he couldn't do anything in a memory. Lily had her wand out, but she was still crouched behind the wooden ring that ran around the wall. As if it was happening in slow motion, Nott stepped from behind his pillar, leveled his wand, and stunned James Potter, who had never even seen him. In an instant, the wary Death-Eaters-in-training were on him, kicking and punching. Lily was still remaining stealthy.

"Why don't you do anything?" Harry shouted to a mother who would never hear him. Then suddenly, mercifully, it was over. Peter was clinging at Avery's leg, begging them to stop, tears running down his chubby face.

"We'll stop," said the husky youth, holding an arm up that seemed to send a powerful message to the others. "But if you tell him anything..." he trailed his wand tip across his neck, where it left a streak that looked very much like blood. With a final laugh, the boys clumped down the stairs as if they were simply heading back to class.

Harry had to look on the grisly scene for a good two minutes, until Lily Potter slowly crept to the stairs and made her way down, waving her wand in a peculiar pattern. Harry realized she was silencing as she went. Harry stood at the bottom of the stairs with Lily for at least five minutes, until finally Wormtail made it to the stairs. He was carrying James with one arm wrapped around his slumping shoulders. James Potter looked more unconscious than conscious, shuffling his feet weakly and moaning.

"I'll kill them all...Avery I saw; and Rosier..."

"Care to explain that, Peter?" Lily asked, leveling her wand.

Peter's beady eyes were still misty. "They jumped me! James tried..."

"Save it! I know everything that was said up there. You'd better have a good excuse, and it better be made out of dragonhide and be an inch thick." Lily poked Pettigrew, who was now close enough to touch, with the tip of her wand. Peter flinched every time the wooden tip brushed his skin. It broke Harry's heart to know that he now possessed that wand. It had been taken from the hand that should have held it by the very man he was looking at now. Peter hadn't reached out and taken it, but he'd done just as much when he gave her up to Voldemort...she'd been just as helpless as if he had.

Pettigrew squinted and actually smiled at Lily. "It's perfect...don't you see?"

"You'd better explain '_perfect',_ because I don't think you're using the same word I know."

"They don't respect me," he said. It sounded whiney, but almost triumphant at the same time. "They think I'm a nobody! You know what kind of people James and Sirius are...I can't be like that! I'm not brave like them..."

"You can't be like that because you're a sniveling rat." She didn't know how right she was.

"I am!" Pettigrew agreed. "That's what makes me perfect! Don't you see?" Lily hadn't shot him yet, so she must have been considering it. Pettigrew continued. "Who better to spy on them, Lily? Think of the team we could make...Potter, Black, Lupin, Evans, and Pettigrew!"

"So you're trying to tell me you're going to pretend to spy on us so you can spy on them? And you expect me to believe that?"

"You know it makes sense!" Lily held the wand up for a long time; long enough for Pettigrew to sag against the wall. James wasn't all that large, but he was bigger than Pettigrew.

"It does," she finally admitted. Harry was screaming obscenities at the memory. "So how does letting them beat James nearly to death make sense?"

"I cast a cushioning charm on him. They aren't just for broomsticks."

"He doesn't even know where he is!"

"Confunded! I knew they'd only hurt him worse if he talked to them..." Lily actually smiled a little.

"You know, they would have, too." She raised her wand.

"Especially if he talked to him like he talks to me," Pettigrew murmured.

Lily nodded slowly.

"Wait!" Pettigrew pleaded. "Don't end it until I'm gone! You know how the Death Eaters are! Snape could cook up a truth potion in a heartbeat... It could be the best potion in the world and if James doesn't know it won't matter... He can't be a danger to us or him." Pettigrew struggled with James. "You go to the third floor stairs... I'll take him down two halls, where you'd come out from the Owlry... Do you know what I mean?"

Lily hesitated and then nodded. Harry was getting hoarse from shouting, but he wasn't going to stop. Some part of his was hoping that maybe, just maybe his voice would make it through the years.

"I'll end the enchantments when we get there...then I'll send him down to you," Peter continued.

She nodded. Pettigrew had sensed the hesitation that meant she'd believed him. The man spent twenty years pretending to be a common pet rat. Lying was second nature to him. Harry had to painfully agree with Snape yet again... Peter was very adept at playing both sides. Lily was walking away...even going so far as to put her wand in her pocket. As she walked down the stairs to the third floor, the memory faded.

For just a bit, Harry stood there in the storage room, surrounded by dusty desks and wobbly chairs. The enormity of what he'd just seen was still sinking in. For several moments he stared at the small lump of clay in his hand, and then with a shout, he hurled it at the wall. It clattered around the room. Harry completely snapped then, turning to the nearest pile of desks and flailing wildly. He punched it until his hands were numb, but that didn't happen until there was searing pain that radiated all the way to his elbows.

When he could no longer make a fist, he kicked the furniture until he couldn't stand on his own. There was a roaring noise, and when it finally ebbed a bit he realized that the sound was his echoing voice. Hermione was trying valiantly to restrain him, with both arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders. Harry dragged her across the floor until his surge of adrenaline-enhanced strength waned and he fell to his knees.

"She knew...she knew all along!" He shouted in a half-sob.

"She didn't," Hermione said reassuringly. She was whispering in his ear, trying to calm him down. "I think that's why she kept it."

"How could she not?" He said, staring at the ground. The ball had rolled back to him and he was gazing at it though eyes that were clouded with tears of rage and pain. With a start, he noticed that there were another pair of feet in front of him. He looked up, and Ron was standing over them, half in and half out of shadows.

"Don't talk to me," Ron said. "Just tell me you're okay."

Harry knelt on the ground for another five minutes, snuffling and crying, and not even bothering to try to hide it. When at last he looked up again, Ron was still standing there. Harry didn't trust himself enough to speak, so he simply nodded. With strong hands, Ron grabbed him beneath the arms and lifted him to his feet. Harry balanced unsteadily on ruined feet...he was sure that his shoes were the only thing holding his toes on. They all felt broken.

Ron wrapped his arm around his shoulder and walked with him while managing to not look at him or talk to him. Hermione followed behind while wringing her hands. It seemed to take a lifetime to reach the infirmary, and when they got there, Ron set Harry down on a bed, and stood outside the door awkwardly.

"For...what is going on, Potter? Why do I see you so much?"

"He fell down the stairs, ma'am," Hermione said smoothly.

"I see." The keen-eyed nurse glanced at his hands. "And I suppose they were whispering rude things about your mother on the way down, so you felt the need to...rough them up a little?" she said in her terse way. The numbness was gone now, and his entire body was in agony. "This will only take a few hours, Potter. You won't have to stay here tonight."

The next two hours were as excruciating as he had ever spent...even more so than when he had gone into the lake. Harry didn't care though...he wanted to ache. It gave him something else to think about.

His mother had known all along. She had known that Wormtail was in with the Death Eaters since before she had left school. She had even caught him in the act, and he'd managed to weasel his way out of it. Harry had to admit that he was even cleverer than he'd given the man credit for, and he couldn't even blame his mother. If that was him and Neville had said that same thing, would he have given it much more thought? And even worse, Neville wasn't fast enough to think of a cushioning charm and a confundus charm. Those alone made Pettigrew seem like he really was trying to do something good and spy on Voldemort.

"Slimy rat!" he said at last, breaking the silence. Ron had gone back to the common room without talking to him, but Hermione was still there. She looked up with tired eyes. She was nervously toying with her own necklace.

"That filthy bastard!" His voice bounced off the marble floor and reverberated from the brick walls. "We have to do something!"

"I don't think there's anything we can do," Hermione said weakly. She flinched under Harry's intent gaze. "Everyone _knows_ he's a Death Eater now. Your mum is dead, your dad...Sirius..." She leaned her head on Harry's shoulder. "That has to be why she saved it. She didn't know for sure if he was telling the truth or not...she wanted proof in case it came to that." She hugged Harry tightly, and he hugged her back. Women were the furthest thing from his mind; and Hermione was certainly one of his oldest and best friends. If he was going to cry, it was going to be to someone who had been there through it all with him.

"He killed them, Hermione! He killed them and that was when he did it..." Harry was no longer interested in knowing the details of his parents' last moments. That was the moment that they had been destroyed...when they had been killed, it had been with a smile, and it had been one of their true friends that had delivered them. Hermione remained still for a long time, her bushy hair wet with Harry's tears. Harry finally had enough, and sucked in a long, wheezing breath. It took him several tries to stop it.

"What do you want to do, Harry?"

"I want to go back to the common room. I just want this all to be over...the war...Voldemort..._all of it_."

"I do too, Harry. We all do."

"Will it ever end?" he asked, looking at Hermione.

"No...no. I don't believe it will. Voldemort may be defeated, but there will always be more. There's no shortage of evil in the world, Harry." Harry stood up carefully, shifting from one foot to the other. They were still tender. His hands hurt too, but rather than the exquisite pain he had been in before, he was left with the sort of dull ache that too much time outside in the cold brought on...a stiffness, a thrumming, radiating sort of twinge that seemed to keep time with his heart and felt like ice in his bones.

"Hold on," Hermione said. She raised her wand and cast a spell at him, which was quickly followed by another. Harry looked at her questioningly.

"Cosmetic charms; just a...touch up." Harry understood. He didn't want the whole common room to know he'd been crying for most of the last two hours.

"Thank you, Hermione," he said evenly. She nodded once, and started down the path to the fat lady's portrait.

When Harry stepped through the common room entrance, it was not to any fanfare. No one noticed him enter, for the most part. Neville was practicing cutting potion ingredients with a large silver knife, and his fingers were covered with bandages. The Creevey brothers were playing chess, Katie was talking to a red-faced Seamus, and various other students were throughout the room, absorbed in their daily routines. Ron was sitting on a lounge, which Harry approached wordlessly. Ron didn't look up at him.

"I just wanted to say thanks," Harry said quietly, hoping that he would at least get the satisfaction of a response. He did, but it wasn't the one he was looking for. Instead, Ron slammed his book closed, stood up, and walked out of the room. Parvati was looking at him from the chair she was sharing with Lavender. She struggled to her feet, which involved moving Lavender's leg, and smoothed her robes. Even though Harry could have honestly called the last three hours some of the worst in his life, he couldn't deny that it looked good and that he was hoping she would come talk to him. He didn't have to wait long.

After far too much smoothing to make him comfortable, she walked towards him and Hermione. "Harry," she said, amicably.

"Parvati."

"Hermione." Hermione nodded.

"It appears as though a sofa has just opened up..." she remarked. A fourth year shot around her and plunged into the plush scarlet cushions. He looked at Parvati complacently. "Sit there and I turn you into a blowfish!" she threatened waving her wand in his face. Hermione, who might have objected some other night, simply looked away. The fourth year slunk away, muttering. Parvati extended an arm as if to say "after you."

Harry slowly sat and she plopped down next to him and leaned up against him. He buried his face in her flowing hair. One thing that had always struck him about her was how well she smelled... He always seemed to be next to intoxicated on her various perfumes and scents. Tonight was no different, and she smelled like chocolate, cinnamon, and various other spices that didn't immediately occur to him. He could lose himself here, and that's what he planned to do. It was just like Walken and their stupid causality cloak...the impact was there, but in the end it was a memory; nothing but a memory. If Parvati was right, and everything was cyclical, then it would be the opportunities that arose again and nothing more. Something Walken said to them occurred to him, and he spoke softly, into the back of Parvati's head.

"What's done is done; you can't un-set the sun."

"What?" Parvati said, leaning back into his face.

"Nothing," Harry answered. He inhaled through his nose. "This feels good. Do you mind if we just...don't move for a while?"

"I don't mind, Harry, but when we are allowed to leave the school, you're going to owe me one serious date."

"I...can do that." He managed. He really didn't want to move. He didn't know what to say to Parvati, so he kept his mouth shut. He got himself in far more trouble when he spoke anyway. With some derisiveness, he noticed that the list of Chocolate Frog Cards that people wanted to buy, sell, or trade was twenty inches long. If Ron made a half-galleon off each one, he was sitting okay; at least until he was no longer the exclusive provider for the whole school. Harry didn't want to think about that. Who cared about Ron anyway?

Their causality cloaks had caught up with them by Monday. Ron, Hermione, and Harry all had all added each other, and it was no surprise that they affected each other tremendously. Hermione and Harry both had a giant jag in their lines...Ron's was smaller, but still sizable. By far, the biggest surprise to Harry was his mother's line, which still bumped against his occasionally. It left him wondering how his mother could possibly be that big a part of his life when she'd been dead for 15 years. That was only mildly more interesting than Parvati. He hadn't told any one who the extra line represented, and he'd found that she hadn't thrown his line to the side, as was the prevailing trend. Rather, it seemed to make his line straighter and reduce the number of jitters. He made a note of it, so he could ask Parvati about it later. She was into divination of every type; if anyone could find an explanation, she could. What's more, she made just enough sense with it to make him wonder.

In potions the next day, Harry was on a mission. He had the Collibri that Arthur Weasley had given him, and he planned on using it to store his potion. Let Malfoy try to hex it then...or anyone, for that matter. He was still behind; it would be Thursday, or more likely Tuesday before he could taste it again, but he could keep this from happening again.

On the way out, he sidled up to Hermione.

"Do you still have that thing?"

"_Thing_?" Hermione said, squinting.

"That ball," Harry said. "The one with the memory."

Hermione fixed her eyes on at him suspiciously. "Why?"

"Professor Lup...Remus needs to see it. They were his friends, too."

Hermione nodded silently and reached into her bag. When she pulled her hand out, the small whitish ball came with it. He'd cracked it down the middle when he'd hurled it against the bricks, and both that and the number were clearly visible. Harry never wanted to see that memory again, but Lupin had to know... It wouldn't be fair to keep something like that to himself. During Defense Against the Dark Arts, Harry took his time composing the letter he would send to Remus. He had the special book that Hermione had made for him...the Auror's texts already had the counter-curses he needed to know and he'd even studied them a little...he wasn't missing anything. He fought with the words that he wanted to send the last of the marauders.

_Dear Professor. _He crossed that last bit out.

_Dear __Professor__ Remus._ That was better. For the better part of two hours he struggled with writing down the right words. It wasn't easy, and it wasn't something he wanted to do, but he had to, so he gutted it out. When he was finally done with the letter, more than half of it was crossed out and rewritten. He rewrote the letter so that it wasn't so haphazard-looking, and when he got time, he securely tied the envelope containing the ball and letter to Hedwig's leg.

"This is very important," he told his owl. She looked at him as though she was saying that everything she did was important. He lifted his arm, and she disappeared through the window in a cloud of feathers.

That night, Harry was sitting on his bed with the bottle of fire that Hermione had given him held loosely in his grasp and the two-way mirror in his lap. He was staring at the fire and absent-mindedly shuffling his Wizarding cards in his left hand. He glanced down at them. The portraits were brought to a weird kind of life in the shifting gloom. All because of them, Ron wouldn't talk to him. It shouldn't bother him as much as it did. The letters on his mirror were glowing blue. He snatched up the looking glass.

"Friend," he said impatiently. Remus must not have been expecting Harry to answer so quickly, because he was still sitting down and getting situated. He looked up after a few moments.

"Ah, hello, Harry."

"Hullo," Harry said simply.

"Your house is well. I hear you and Ron created new wards, and that you created a Sigil. Nice on that...I knew you were up to it." Harry shrugged.

"What's that in your hand?" Remus nodded.

"Hermione gave it to me. It's...to help clear my head."

"I see. That must be useful...to clear your head."

Harry nodded mutely. Remus held out his hand, in which a small, grey ball with a crack down the middle was nestled.

"I have my own. Also Miss Granger's work, if I'm not mistaken. It seems as if we're a pair tonight." Harry nodded again, and his eyes were drawn back to the flame. It danced invitingly in its bottle.

_Let me out, Harry. Just for a little while. I'll be good. I promise._ The flame didn't have the voice of any one he knew, which was nice. He didn't exactly want to hear Draco Malfoy or Ron tonight.

_I'm sure you'd be as good as you could be,_ he replied in his head. _ A snake can't stop being a snake._ Remus ended Harry's mental segue.

"I'm not going to waste a lot of time Harry. I'm busy, and you're busy... Tell me; have you used this--looked at this--whatever one does with it?"

"Yes." Harry nodded.

"And you really think that I should see it?"

"I think so, yes."

"You know, I don't want this to come off wrong, but I've put Pettigrew behind me. And James. And Lily...don't even get me started on Lily." Remus stared at the ball in his palm, running his thumb along the crack. "I don't know that I can handle seeing them all at once."

"Look," Harry said. "I don't know if I ever want to see it again. _I'm_ the one who put that crack in it...but I had to see it; just that once." Harry trailed off as he spoke.

Lupin sighed. "How do I activate it?"

Later on, Harry had put the mirror in his chest and was staring at the Wizarding cards that had come from the Chocolate Frogs the Weasley twins had given him at the beginning of the year. He really wasn't thinking about anything, other than some hazy thoughts about Parvati and a distant contemplation of what it was that Ron was thinking tonight. The wizards on the cards seemed to shift and almost come to life in the twinkling violet light.

Life wasn't fair, and perhaps the most unfair part about it was that so much of it depended on decisions that other people made. He was still tied to what his mother had done, either in the memories he'd seen, or in the ones he'd only heard about. Walken would give them the causality cloaks soon; they were due to start the _tempus sinus_ charm Monday, and he'd have a reminder of just how much the other threads in his life affected him. He was just a victim, a casualty. Balfour Bane, the wizard who happened to be on the top of his deck, winked at him in the firelight. Harry forgot why he was famous, and flipped the card over. Bane had created a seventeenth century law about charms.

"At least you're not on that cloak," he murmured softly. "Though if you were, I'm sure I'd see where you bumped up against me someplace."

That Saturday, he was sitting at lunch with Parvati. He had explained the cloak to her, and since they had finished with them in class the day before, she'd gotten a chance to look at it. She gazed at it a long time, and had been thinking about it all night and day. Harry was rubbing his ears, which he was thinking were frostbitten, thanks to Quidditch practice in the icy cold; on account of Katie's slave driving tendencies.

Natalie had loaned him one of her personal brooms; an old Cleansweep 5 that seemed to vibrate to the touch. She had very obviously done something to it, and it had the distinct feeling that it was just below the level that would cause it to burst in the middle of a turn. It didn't handle nearly as well as his, and he was always on guard for a wide-turn that would take him into the stands, another player, or the ground. He had a feeling that this is how the motorbike would feel, when he finally got good enough to run it.

"I think," Parvati said, pausing to take a drink of water. "I think that it's really quite clear. I just don't mean enough to impact your life. I mean, look at Ron and Hermione, or even your mum. Meanwhile I'm-" Harry interrupted her. He'd actually been thinking the same thing, but he hadn't forgotten the night in the common room when he had created the bubble.

"Maybe you're someone who calms me down. I mean, that's what I asked for in the beginning...someone who wouldn't try to change me, someone who wasn't grabby. I really need that, more than anything." Parvati looked lost in concentration, but slightly more comfortable as she sipped her water, which she preferred to pumpkin juice. Harry found that she had an aversion...it was a story she hadn't told him yet. Regardless, she wouldn't drink it unless she had no other choice.

"Clingy," Parvati corrected.

From the other side of him, Ginny grabbed his leg. "I rather expect you enjoy the _grabby _part of it." Since it was under the table, no one else saw it, which relieved Harry. The last thing that Parvati needed to think right now was that he had something going on with Ginny. She was already contemplating how unimportant she seemed to him. It had been a mistake to show her the cloak. Meanwhile, Ginny looked as though she knew exactly what she had done when Harry's heart had come close to exploding. It was unfair when a girl you weren't dating grabbed your leg while you were sitting next to your girlfriend...it was downright _criminal_ when that girl was Ginny Weasley. Harry knew how she felt about him, at least some time in the past, and had no way of knowing what she thought about him now. It didn't help that she was so ruddy gorgeous.

Harry was saved by the arrival of an unlikely visitor; Draco Malfoy. He swaggered to the table with a full goblet in his hand, and arrogant look on his pointy but aristocratic face.

"Beat it, Malfoy," Ron warned. His eyes flashed dangerously and Draco sneered. He suddenly seemed to notice Connor, who was sitting directly across from Ginny. Before anyone could stop him, he leaned over the table, and whispered something in the American's face. Harry blanched; after everything Connor and Draco had been through throughout the year, there was no way Connor would let Malfoy slide. His suspicions proved correct when Connor suddenly grabbed Malfoy by the neck and proceeded to choke him slowly but very forcefully. At the same moment, Ron grabbed Malfoy by the robes and hauled back on him, cursing the whole time.

"Get off my sister you filthy little rodent! I'll bounce your arse off three walls! I'll-"

"Ron!" Hermione grabbed Ron around the waist and was attempting to pull him away from Malfoy. Down the table, Seamus, Dean, and both Creeveys had leapt to their feet, along with most of the Gryffindors who were close enough to have an idea of what was going on. This was fortunate, because it largely shielded the situation from the curious eyes of the rest of the students in great hall, who had started to take notice of the commotion.

Though he didn't really want to get involved, Harry felt that it was his duty to support Ron, even if Ron wasn't talking to him, and grabbed Malfoy's robes, tugging on them along with his friend. Ginny was simply trying to get away from Malfoy, who in all fairness never appeared to have any interest in her to begin with. Connor seemed to think it was his duty to do Malfoy in, and Draco was starting to go from his normal pale whitish to a delicate shade of blue.

"What is the meaning of this?" a furious voice snapped. Connor immediately released Malfoy with a frighteningly innocent look on his face, causing Harry and Ron to fling him backwards into the Creeveys, who managed to stay on their feet, though Draco wasn't as lucky.

"Don't try to fool me, Colier! I saw what you were doing!" Professor McGonagall looked furious. Her lips were a nearly invisible line, and her eyes burned behind her square spectacles.

"That's…that's right," Malfoy gasped, rubbing the ring around his throat as he rose shakily to his feet. "They attacked me with no provocation! Wait till-"

"Shut up Malfoy," McGonagall snapped. "You were born guilty! As if you came over here just to chat! Colier, Malfoy, detention, both of you, and fifty points will be deducted from each of your houses. You should be ashamed of yourselves; fighting like common rabble! I will not tolerate this sort of behavior from anyone; be they a Gryffindor or not!" She turned her glowering eyes on Malfoy, who actually appeared to shrink a little. "Mister Malfoy, I suggest you go back to your own table and stay there, or next time I may take a bit longer to break things up!"

Malfoy indignantly snatched his goblet from the table and stormed off towards the Slytherin table, trying to push Dean and Seamus out of his way. Neither would have it, and Draco ended up sprawled on the ground again. His face colored as he tried to keep his rage in check, and since he was already blue from having been throttled nearly to the point of unconsciousness, it turned his cheeks a light purple. He sprung to his feet and rushed around the crowd, back to the group of sneering Slytherins. Crabbe and Goyle had stood immediately when they saw what was happening to Malfoy, but neither had moved to help him, and Harry suspected they were going to get a good earful as soon as Draco was within griping distance.

Everyone around them was roaring with laughter, but something was sitting wrong with Harry. McGonagall had said it herself; Malfoy didn't come over just to chat, so what was it he wanted?

A hand on his shoulder startled him from his thoughts. "And what is going on here?" Some of the laughing and cheers immediately ceased as Snape glided in front of them. Harry shook the professor's hand from his shoulder with some revulsion.

"Nothing, Severus," Professor McGonagall barked. "I have it under control."

"It didn't appear to me that things where under control when Mister Malfoy was being choked or tossed to the ground."

"Mister Malfoy is in your house, and therefore your responsibility. I'm perfectly willing to answer for what Mister Finnegan and Mister Thomas _may or may not_ have done. Do you really want to answer for Draco today?" Harry held his breath. Professor McGonagall had not hesitated when putting Dolores Umbridge in her place last year, and her sharp tongue wasn't just limited to foul and corrupt bureaucrats. Snape sucked in a quick breath, and Harry momentarily wished he was somewhere else.

"And what about Mister Colier?" Snape actually hissed when he said 'mister', and Harry saw something in Professor McGonagall's eyes that reminded him very strongly of Dumbledore.

"It was apparent to me, and it would have been apparent to you, Severus, _had you been here_ to witness the ordeal; Mister Colier and Mister Malfoy were both at fault, which is why they were _both punished_. Do you have a problem with that?" She spoke very slowly, and Harry couldn't imagine anyone being foolish enough to risk the wrath that she was barely containing.

"What about Potter?" Snape said; his voice even quieter so those around them may not have even heard it at all. "I have a hard time believing he wasn't involved."

"Then don't believe it!" Professor McGonagall snapped. "In fact, Mister Potter and Mister Weasley were trying desperately to break the two up, so I'm glad you mentioned them. Potter, Weasley, you're awarded five points each for trying to end this…altercation before someone was seriously injured. Next time try to remember that you're wizards, and there are better ways to do it than stretching Mister Malfoy's neck."

At that Snape wheeled on his heels and nearly fled from the great hall. Harry could almost feel the anger radiating from the Potions master. He thought again for a moment about what could possibly be wrong, and the crowd around them disbursed. As she passed, McGonagall paused to glare at him sternly, and in her square-framed spectacles, he saw the reflection of Ginny Weasley as she raised her goblet to her lips.

"Stop!" Harry dove for the cup and snatched it from Ginny's hands with the speed of a natural-born seeker. Some of the juice sloshed over the edges and splashed onto her already abused jumper, and she favored Harry with a stunned look that harbored more than a bit of malice.

"Harry," she whined, shaking her fiery tresses. "What's wrong with you?"

"Mister Potter!" McGonagall was apparently still right behind him, but at the moment, he didn't care.

"Did you drink any of this?"

"What?"

"Ginny, listen to me, this is very important: Did you drink anything from this goblet?"

"Yes!" She had gone from looking annoyed to looking frightened, and now Ron was gazing at Harry as well, while occasionally glancing at his sister with a concerned look plastered all over his face. Hermione was watching silently, trying to figure out what Harry was getting at. All over the rest of the Hall, the students were returning to their meals, and even at the Gryffindor table Seamus and Dean had returned to their seats, along with nearly everyone who'd crowded around during the brief scuffle.

"Professor," Harry said, turning to face Professor McGonagall, "I know why Malfoy was over here; he was trying to poison Ginny!"

"That is a very serious allegation Mister Potter, one that shouldn't be made lightly."

"Look," Harry said, pointing at the bottom of the goblet, where a small green band encircled the base. "This came from the Slytherin table."

"It's not uncommon for these types of things to get misplaced, Mister Potter, all it takes is for a student to visit a friend at a different table..." Harry didn't wait for her to finish.

"With all due respect, Professor, how many Slytherins would you say are waiting to visit with us, roughly? This juice is still cold!" Professor McGonagall pursed her thin lips even tighter, and finally reached a decision.

"Miss Granger, take Miss Weasley to the hospital wing immediately. Mister Potter, come with me. Mister Weasley, take a message to Professor Snape; tell him his presence is requested in the Headmaster's office, make sure he knows we need him to identify a potential poison." Professor McGonagall stopped Ron as he turned to go. "One more thing, Mister Weasley, do you see Mister Malfoy in the great hall?"

Ron was taller than nearly every Hogwarts student, and he had a good view all around. He and Harry searched the rows of heads for the blond, nearly white hair and pointed, violet face of Draco Malfoy, but both agreed that he was no longer in attendance. Professor McGonagall glanced at the doors to the hall with a clever look in her eyes. "If Mister Malfoy is guilty, he may not know that his ruse has failed. Do try to remain somewhat unobtrusive?"

"Uh, certainly, professor," Ron agreed.

Several minutes later, Harry and Professor McGonagall were standing before Professor Dumbledore as the headmaster paced his office. Harry had just finished telling his story, and it was obvious from the look on Professor Dumbledore's face that he was very troubled indeed.

"I must admit I'm not entirely surprised," Professor Dumbledore said at last, stopping in front of this desk. "This is, of course, assuming Mister Malfoy is guilty, which isn't proper, as much as it seems self-evident." Harry thought he had done very well in controlling his temper to this point, but he was very close to losing it now. A noise behind him momentarily diverted his attention, and he turned to see Snape creeping in with several bottles in his hands.

"What is _he_ doing here," Snape said, glaring at Harry balefully.

"Mister Potter is the one that noticed the discrepancy, Severus. I think it would be in his best interest to know the outcome, for better or worse." Snape made no reply, but simply arrayed the potions in a line on the headmaster's desk. "After all, he will either need to be more vigilant or less interested the next time around, will he not?"

"This is a Juxtaposition Potion," Snape drawled instead of answering Dumbledore's question. He pointed at the first bottle, which was clear. "When mixed with a known-good control," Snape indicated the second vial, which appeared to contain pumpkin juice, "it can indicate whether a specific sample is…impure. I've drawn this control from a pitcher on the Gryffindor table." He lightly shook the pumpkin juice and unstopped both it and the phial of clear liquid, and then carefully tapped a few drops of the control into the clear potion, which turned a brilliant blue.

"Now," Snape continued, "we'll give it at least a minute to properly adjust, after which we will mix the sample; the _alleged_ poison. If the potion turns green, the two are identical. If it turns red, they are not."

The next minute was one of the longest Harry had ever endured. McGonagall and Snape pointedly tried to ignore each other, while Dumbledore looked as unhappy as Harry had ever seen him. His blue eyes smoldered, and along the walls some of the portraits were frowning or shaking their heads. After a near eternity, Snape unstopped the Juxtaposition Potion once again, and tapped in a few drops from the goblet Harry had taken from Ginny, which was still half-full.

The potion immediately turned a dazzling red. Headmaster Dumbledore unfolded his hands and rose, leaning on his desk. "Well, then, Severus. Do you suppose you could have a look at what is actually in that goblet?"

"I will do so immediately, Headmaster," Snape said acerbically, casting a sealing charm on the goblet.

When he glared balefully around the room, Harry held his gaze, and pointedly cleared his mind as well as he could, except for his complete disgust for Malfoy. He was quite hoping Snape would pick up on that. The potions master stormed out, and Dumbledore paused in front of his desk, staring at the small vial filled with bright red liquid. With a wave of his hand, he dismissed both Harry and Professor McGonagall.

"Professor," Harry asked as they were descending the gargoyle's stairs, "what's going to happen to Malfoy?"

Ron said nothing, walking in silence with a look on his face that said he was deep in thought.

Professor McGonagall glanced at Harry from the corner of her eye, and her normally severe expression softened.

"Please don't ask me that, Mister Potter."

"Why?"

After a long pause, Professor McGonagall stopped and put a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Harry, I need you to trust me. I must ask you first and foremost, before I say another word; do you trust me?"

"Of course, professor!"

"I mean it," she replied.

"So do I…I _really_ trust you."

"Harry, you have to understand that right now we can't prove Malfoy guilty of anything…"

"So he's going to get off!" Harry exploded, yanking his hand away from Professor McGonagall. "I knew that twit would get off...That arrogant little bastard! He-"

"Harry!" The momentary kindness was gone from her voice. "Listen, for once! We can't prove him guilty of anything, though between the three of us, we all know he's up to his ears in trouble. What you need to do now is mind your business...very _carefully _mind it. That was very clever of you to spot the goblet from the Slytherin table, but next time there could be no such clue." McGonagall had walked Ron and Harry all the way to the Gryffindor common room. "Not a word of this, either of you. And whatever is going on between you, get over it! Now is not the time for petty squabbles!" She pushed them both through the portrait hole so fast and hard that Harry nearly fell over.


	22. Chapter 22 Very Special Cards

**Chapter 22 - Very Special Cards**

Ron plopped down next to Harry on the common room's best sofa. They had kicked the third-years who were occupying it unceremoniously off, and had sat down in silent but amicable agreement. After a while, Hermione and Parvati sat on both ends of them. It forced them to squish together. Harry didn't mind being squashed into Ron slightly, because being severely squashed into Parvati made it worth it.

"Hey Harry," Ron said conversationally, as if he hadn't spent the last week ignoring him.

"Hey Ron," he answered, just as indifferently.

"You know what all that money can't buy you?"

"I have a feeling you're going to tell me."

"I am," Ron agreed. He waited long enough for Harry to respond. When Harry didn't, he continued. "A clue."

"That would be pretty handy," Harry agreed, although in his mind, Ron was the one who needed a clue. That was his whole point in the beginning. Of course, Harry had spent the last week trying to get Ron to talk to him. He wasn't about to let some words get in the way. Besides, Ron had already seen him kneeling on the floor after breaking his hands and feet while kicking furniture. A little thing like misplaced pride wasn't going to stop reconciliation. Harry was trying hard to believe he was above that.

"I uh...owe you. You're the only one who saw what was going to happen to Ginny."

"I couldn't stop her from drinking it."

"You stopped her from drinking most of it. Knowing Malfoy, it was some stupid prank." Harry hoped so. Madame Pomfrey had examined Ginny thoroughly and then sent her back to the common room. They all had strict instructions to tell nobody what had gone on between the four of them in the great hall. Ginny was currently scowling at Dean, but she didn't look poisoned.

Hermione tipped her head up suddenly. "You know Harry, he's been _awfully_ anxious to slip people potions."

"What d'you mean?" Ron asked, suddenly interested.

"Potions class," Harry said. "He swapped my potion out for something else. I had to use the flask your dad gave me for my birthday. I feel like bloody Mad-Scar Harry."

Ron chuckled, but only briefly. "Has it caught up to you?" his friend asked. Harry shook his head.

"Malfoy is just a squirming little rat, nothing more, nothing less, and I bet if his potion was supposed to do something, he probably messed it up," Harry said. Then he ominously coughed. It was a familiar sounding hack...and it wasn't from the potion. "Dean!" he shouted. That dirty, typhoid-ridden germ-box! It wasn't bad enough he had to walk around spraying everywhere...he had to infect Harry too.

"He's an arrogant twerp, but he's not ignorant," Hermione said.

Parvati who had had been silent this whole time, spoke up. Harry supposed she felt quite lost, as they hadn't included her in much of this. "You didn't tell me that...when did this happen?"

Harry went into high-alert mode. He was by far no expert on women, but experience had taught him to stop questioning himself; if he thought he was in trouble, he probably was. He couldn't say he didn't want her to worry, because actually Parvati seemed to have listened when he complained that everyone handled him like a baby. She hadn't treated him that way at all...and the last thing he wanted was to make her think he was lumping her in with them. All this went through his mind in the time it took a feather to fall to the ground. Harry decided to avoid the situation all together.

"It's just Malfoy being Malfoy. If there's one thing I don't want to lay on you, it's him being an ignorant jackass. You'd never get anything else done!"

"He never told me, either, if that helps," Ron added to Harry's relief.

Parvati looked satisfied...if Harry hadn't told Ron either then she wasn't totally out of the loop; never mind that Ron hadn't even been talking to him. Harry cursed to himself...if there was one thing Parvati Patil wanted it was to be in the loop. Harry resolved himself to tell her more...even if it seemed inane to him. He thought that he done pretty good so far, with the hints he dropped about McGonagall. He'd just have to keep trying. He shifted and put his arm up on the back of the lounge. For a moment he was afraid that she wouldn't try to get any closer, but then she leaned into him close enough for him to wrap his arm around her neck.

***

"What is 'tempus sinus'?" Professor Walken asked, pacing back and forth. "Weasley?"

"Time pocket," Ron announced certainly.

"Very good. One point. Why can't it be used instead of 'spatium sinus'? Chang?"

"Time stops with a tempus sinus, and not with spatium sinus."

"Close," Walken nodded. "One point. It's almost impossible to _stop _time. The tempus sinus does slow time down, however, within a pocket...You see, time and space are so intimately related that when we slow down, it creates a pocket of space as well. We don't even have to try to do both."

"Is this going to be more useful than the spatium sinus?" Ernie MacMillan asked. Harry thought the spatium sinus had been very handy. He wasn't going to put Walken on the spot by pointing out that that bubble was handy for the impromptu snog, though. Let Ernie figure _that_ out on his own.

"Actually, this is _quite _useful," Walken said, holding up and advertisement for _Saudin's Marvelous Sleeve_, a wand sleeve that wealthy wizards sometimes purchased to show how wealthy they really were. "The tempus sinus is how they make these."

"Are you saying we'll be able to make those?" Nott picked up, suddenly more interested.

"No. There are many, many, many other things to consider...for example, how does one put a wand in something when time is stopped, and there is no time for it to move?"

Harry was starting to get the familiar ache in the front of his head that this class was prone to produce.

"How would you pull an object from something when it is in a place where time has stopped, when that would act like a brick of pure space, or even cut your fingers if it happened to come on when you were half way?" Walken continued. "Now the solution is what...can anyone guess?" He looked specifically at Hermione, who shrugged.

"I suppose you'd have to turn it on or off," she answered, hesitantly.

"You suppose correctly. Two points. The solution that Saudin and I came up with was to turn the enchantment off and on when you touch your wand. Technically, that's not possible, so we had to create a pocket within a pocket...clumsy, but it was the best we could do. You'll be creating something far more mundane; a weak version of the Tempus Sinus that doesn't even come close to stopping time. If you do it right, you should slow it down. Not as easy as it sounds, I assure you."

Class had by then ended, but the kind of students that were in here were the kinds who would stay regardless. Harry waited for Ron and Hermione to pack their books and quills, so he could walk with them.

"I'm not sure I've got this bit," Ron announced, when they were safely away for class and into the hallway.

"It is..._ambitious_," Hermione agreed.

_'Ambitious_,' thought Harry. That was an understatement.

That night, Harry was to speak with Remus by mirror. Harry had been mildly surprised to get the letter arranging it, as he never received any owl post, unless it was from Mrs. Weasley on Christmas.

"Harry?" Harry had been, in fact, nearly unconscious...the blue flame had nearly lulled him to sleep. He sat up with a start. "I'm sorry Harry. I didn't mean to wake you. It's not like this can't wait."

"That's okay. I shouldn't be sleeping anyway. It's only..." He stared at his watch for a while before it made any sense to him. "Eight," he finished, when it finally came into focus. Lupin stared at him.

"That's quite a bit...a piece of work. Hermione should be proud." Harry nodded. "I wanted to know Harry; what did you think of it?"

"What did I think?" Harry snapped. "I think that murderous little rat got an early start lying to my mum, and I think I owe him..."

"No," Remus cut him off. Harry stared dumbly.

"Harry, I know this will be hard for you to get, but you mustn't think that way. You've got revenge on your mind, and that is never good."

"You watched it! He stood there and lied to my mom...she knew! _She knew!_"

"And yet she chose to believe him, and do you know why?" Harry glared balefully.

He knew Remus would tell him, whether he wanted to know or not, and he wasn't going to give Lupin the satisfaction of a reply.

"Harry, you're a wizard, but before that you were brought up in a...less-than-accepting household." That was an understatement. The Dursleys punished him whenever they thought he did anything odd, regardless of whether magic was involved or not. "Think back to how many times you've seen something you simply can't believe or explain. Why, your boggart was a dementor...I remember it clearly. Your eyes were lying to you when they said there was a dementor in front of you. And Weasley's...the _same_ being appeared as a spider. With Miss Patil it was a mummy, I believe. Or a great snake...I just can't recall which. You know it was the same creature, yet it appeared in how many different ways?"

"What's Parvati have to do with anything?"

"I hear you're getting quite, ah, comfortable with Patil. I know her of her father...he's a shrewd man. I reckon that fruit didn't fall far from the tree."

"Did he go to Hogwarts?"

"Hmm? No. He came from India...Bangalore or some such. I know of the man though. And stop trying to change the subject. Your eyes have lied to you; that much you have to admit. How often do your friends?"

"That's stupid. My friends can lie whenever."

"They can, and it would be ignorant of me to argue that one should believe their friends over their own eyes, but it would be just as ignorant of me to argue that you can't see something that really isn't as it seems...a lie, as it were."

"So why should she have taken his word for it, when she was _there_, watching?" Remus leaned forward. He had grown the sides of his mustache out, similar to the way Sirius had worn his.

"Let me tell you a bit about Peter. You only knew Peter as a coward...a traitor and a liar. When your mother knew him, he was none of those. Pete wasn't a liar and a traitor to us, and I guess that's what made him so good for it when he decided to turn. Your mother knew a little something about seeing impossible things...Lily was no one's fool. She believed Peter over her own eyes because there was no reason not to....because she couldn't explain Peter wanting to be a traitor to his best friends, but she could believe he wanted to spy on the dark side. For all I know, maybe he did, at first. Lily did seem to get the drop on death eaters and their like more often than not. Maybe she was just more than lucky."

"I don't believe that!" Harry uttered through clenched teeth.

"I wouldn't expect you to," Remus answered back, drinking deeply from his goblet. "I would merely ask you to consider it." Harry decided to change the subject again...it was either that or break the mirror. He already done that once, and though Dumbledore had repaired it then, Harry didn't know that he could do it a second time.

"Who told you about me and Parvati?"

"Divulge all my secrets? Never, Harry. Let's just say I keep informed. Anyway, the way I hear it, half the school keeps up."

"I...I'll have to break it off then."

"Break it off?" Remus replied, as though the idea was incredulous. "Are you insane?"

"Insane because I don't want to make her a target?"

"You'll do that...but do you have any idea how megalomaniacal that makes you sound? As if she'd become a special target all because of you? Selling her short a bit, aren't you? The least you can do is give her a chance to be a target all by herself," Remus paused. "That sounded odd. Look, your mother wasn't a target because of your father. You-Know-Who hated her just as much as him. Maybe Patil will be a terror for him in her own right."

"We both know that Voldemort will try to get to me any way he can, and she'll end up paying the price," Harry said, growing irate. How many times did he have to explain this?

"So you're saying you'd only make her a victim?" Remus pushed him.

"That's exactly what I'm saying," Harry replied, only half-trying to keep the exasperation out of his voice.

"Has it ever occurred to you that we're all victims already? The only thing that keeps us separate is time...how long it will take to become _the_ victim." Harry had heard that argument before, more or less, from Ron. "Do you think the Dark Lord likes werewolves?" Harry said nothing. "That's a question Harry. I expect an answer."

"No," Harry announced, sullenly.

"The only reason he gets their support now is because they hate _all_ wizards, by and large, and siding with him give them an excuse to kill quite a lot of them. What will happen when he turns his eye on _them_, though?" He waited a respectable time.

"He'll go for Parvati sooner if she's around me."

"Probably," Remus agreed. "You're trying to change the subject, though. He won't go after werewolves because everyone hates them, and they aren't about to side with wizards. That doesn't mean that he's never going to exterminate them, because eventually, he will. Mark my words. Parvati won't necessarily be safer on her own...she just may be overlooked longer. Besides, you are surrounded by people who keep a very close eye on you...in a funny sort of way that would make her safer."

"That's ridiculous. Voldemort hates me and everyone around me," Harry spat.

"He does. Look at werewolves...You-Know-Who doesn't respect them himself, because he doesn't fear them. He hates you because he fears you, and he has to know that the people around you will do anything for you. You hate what you fear, Harry." When Harry didn't answer, Remus shifted. The jogging of the mirror said he was standing up, and probably streaching. "You should sleep, Harry. I can't tell you what to do, any more than I could tell James what to do, but I played the role of the conscience to your father a good many years. We got in...a lot of trouble, but I daresay it would have been even worse, had I not been around. You can pay me back by at least considering what I've said." Harry nodded slowly, and the mirror faded with him not having broken it. He was gripping it tightly however.

He made it through the week, and on Wednesday, a small Slytherin girl skulked up to him as though he was about to devour her.

"Professor Snape says you are to attend remedial potions tomorrow, sir."

"_Remedial potions?_"

"That's only what I was told!" the little girl cringed.

Harry couldn't imagine anyone being that frightened of him, yet there she was, eyes the size of galleons. The next night he trudged to the potions master's office in the dungeons, muttering under his breath. There were voices ahead, and he stopped to make them out. They were just beyond the range of intelligibility. He strained his ears, and it was only because of that he heard Draco coming at him from behind.

Harry turned and cast a shield charm in one moment, and it was only through luck that whatever Draco had cast bounced harmlessly into the ceiling, where the sickly yellow-green light diffused in a spreading splotch on the ceiling.

"I'll teach you to transfigure me when I'm not looking!" Draco yelled. Harry ignored his wild accusations.

"I know what you did! I know that was your cup!" he screamed back.

Draco was still blaring curses, some of them quite nasty ones. Harry stopped talking long enough to try and concentrate on neutralizing them.

Suddenly, a strong hand jerked him backwards. Snape strode forward to Draco, stopping the spells with tiny flicks of his wand. Harry hated the man, but he had to respect the ease with which he was deflecting or stopping curses, as if he wasn't even doing work. When he was close enough, Snape reached out and pushed Draco's arm down, silencing the hallway.

"Go to the dormitory. Tell no one your secrets and take some time to cool off." He suddenly glared at Harry. "Detention! And fifteen points from Gryffindor for fighting in my hall!" Harry wanted to complain, but Snape didn't give him a chance. The man literally threw Harry into the hard wooden chair that he sat on during his Occlumency practice.

Harry knew the chair didn't have to be as uncomfortable at it was, and that Snape likely kept in uncomfortable on purpose, so Harry wouldn't be at all able to concentrate. Sometimes, Harry thought he would be better off standing than he would be resting any part of him on the cold, hard, pointy chair. Snape slammed his door shut with a thunderous bang that shook the walls.

"_What is the purpose of this lesson?_"

"What-?"

"You heard me, Potter! I know as deficient as your _brain or judgment_ might be, there is nothing wrong with your ears. Answer me!" Harry, who was very confused, and who had just about had enough of Snape, Occlumency, and Malfoy, remained wisely silent. "Answer!" Snape barked again.

"To protect my mind!" Harry shot back, balling his fists. Even though he was almost furious enough to start smoking from the ears, he had the presence of mind to know that hitting Snape would be a very, very bad idea.

"Nothing can protect your mind! Your mind is not vulnerable! You are protecting memories, thoughts; which, if you'd bothered to read your text, _are_ vunerable! So tell me why you feel it necessary to allow those thoughts to escape your foolish lips!" Harry was far too angry to answer politely and far too familiar with Snape to answer to his satisfaction. "The Dark Lord has not targeted Weasley, Granger, or the Patil girl..." he paused and grinned evilly. "...Yet." Harry let that sink in. The bastard Snape had a way of saying things that were horrifying in their savagery and truth....he worked with words like a surgeon with scalpels. "That can change. And I assure that that whatever you have done to--probably justly--earn young Mister Malfoy's rage, he will not hesitate in taking his vengeance out on them."

"You're just protecting him! You just want me to keep my mouth shut about stupid Malfoy," Harry yelled, clutching the edge of the chair's seat.

"Conceivably. And perhaps Mister Malfoy is still unaware that you believed he switched goblets, as inane as it sounds. Shouting otherwise in a hallway duel for others to hear will only give him a reason to target your friends," Snape oozed smugly.

"You're still just trying to get him off!" Harry spat.

"Perhaps, but we won't know that until something unfortunate has happened. And Potter..." Harry looked up. "Neither the teachers nor you can stay with them all the time." Harry had now calmed down to the point that he wasn't seeing red. That was a plus. "Now...since you have had a vacation from training, we shall have to work even harder. It's going to be a long night, Potter."

When Harry was done he had a pounding headache, and he just wanted to go to bed. One good thing about being forced to learn Occlumency was that staring at his little vial of fire did the same thing for him as a few aspirin, only it worked much faster. As he slumped into bed, he could already see the light of the world dimming, although he could still hear his heart beating in his chest.

Friday the school was treated to a small bit of minor but very welcome news; the medi-wizards at Saint Mungo's had finally whipped up an inoculation potion for the flu, which had been growing progressively worse at Hogwarts. It was slow moving, Harry had so far developed no more than a minor cough, but it was pervasive.

Dean, Ginny, Ron, Neville, and many others had come up sniffley in the last few days. Ginny and Dean, who were growing more distant by the day, had spent a good part of the year snogging each other senseless. The only mystery there was how she had escaped from it for as long as she had; especially with Dean spraying down the dormitory with germs on a daily basis.

It was only a matter of time until they grew worse. It was nice to see that the ministry had something on its collective mind. All the students were to report to the hospital wing at some time over the next two days, as the ministry had sent stockpiles of an inoculation. Gryffindor boys were scheduled for Friday night. They walked with the sixth and seventh year girls, who were scheduled to be there at the same time. Harry tried to unwind from the last week, which had been taxing, to say the least, and Parvati was helping him tremendously. He was starting to wish their relationship was more intense than it was.

By the time Harry arrived at the hospital wing, Parvati had him smiling, even though he didn't want to. Madame Pomfrey was waiting by the back wall with two rows of tables. She was sorting the students into two lines. When she got to Connor, it was obvious that there was going to be an altercation.

"I'm not taking the potion," he announced. Madam Pomfrey was not used to this kind of insubordination.

"What is your problem, Mister..." she waited for him to supply the name.

"Colier. And I don't drink strange potions."

"It's an _influenza_ inoculation!" She insisted. He shrugged.

"If and when I get the flu, I'll come get some."

"You'll infect the rest of the school!" Madame Pomfrey said indignantly.

"They're all inoculated. Can I spread it to inoculated students?"

"Colier, are you going to drink it, or not?"

"I believe...not," he announced.

"Then get out of the way, so the rest of the students can." Connor slowly exited the room, amidst whispers and laughter.

"He has a point," Hermione said. "You could do almost anything with a potion."

"He's mental," Ron announced. "And only a nutter would refuse to take a potion handed out in the school's hospital wing."

It was actually Flitwick creating the two lines, pulling students haphazardly to the left or right. Some students were in Harry's line, like Draco Malfoy and Ron, Hermione, and Parvati, and some were in the other; Seamus and Dean, Lavender, Nott, and Ernie MacMillan. The lines were both about the same length, and moving quickly. When Harry, Ron, and Hermione reached the front of the line, Hermione eyed the two racks of potions keenly.

"Why are they two separate colors?" She asked.

"They aren't!" Madame Pomfrey insisted, her patience already tested by the American nuisance.

"That one there...that one's a lighter blue!" Hermione insisted. Harry looked at them through squinted eyes. She may have had a point, but it was less of a difference than he'd seen between his potions and hers, and they had allegedly been making the same thing.

"Oh for...If you don't like it, get in the other line!" Hermione didn't have Connor's disregard for authority. For the moment, she let the mismatching potions slide. The potion was airy and minty, and Harry felt better the moment he took it. It would be pleasant to have his dorm free from hacking.

Over in the other line, Dean was just taking his potion now. That night, it was satisfying just to sit in the darkened common room, and not hear snuffles or sneezes. Parvati had never had the flu, and with Harry cured and inoculated, she had no excuses not to get very close to him...Not that she'd ever made any.

After the potion was distributed; their dormitory was eerily silent at night. As Harry sat looking at the tiny flame licking away at the bottle's side, he could hear the faint crackling noise it made, and feel the ticking of the flame on the side of the bottle. It hadn't dimmed since Hermione had given it to him, and he was growing addicted to staring at it at night.

As he was fading in and out of consciousness, he heard a vague mumbling, and could smell smoke. He was still wearing his spectacles, and his wand was on the bed next to him. He had closed the curtains around him, so he could imagine the sneak, whomever it was, reckoned him asleep. It had to be Connor; he had shown that he didn't set off the wards around Harry's area. Harry took a deep breath. He was now fully awake. With a whispered word, he silenced the entire are around him. He reached under the pillow and pulled out the Mauauder's Map. The first thing he did was take an obsessive peek to see where the women were, which always elicited a cheap thrill, even though it was just seeing footprints in an inked in room. It was something he had to do; each time he had to pick out Parvati. It was good that she didn't know he did that, because it seemed fairly creepy, even to him. As soon as he saw Parvati's name, he glanced at the boys' dorm. All the names were where he expected them to be.

Harry leaned forward and peeked through the curtains...nothing. There was a small ribbon of barely visible smoke drifting from his bureau-top. As he watched in wonder, he maneuvered himself around to where he could see the top of the furniture. There was nothing to see on the bureau...even the top, which he knew was being defiled as he watched, was bare. Was it possible that Conner had an invisibility cloak like his; one that even concealed him from the map? Harry looked back to the map. Connor's dot was clear, and in appeared to be where it should be...right in his bed. The bottle of fire was at the edge of his blanket, and he tucked it under his pillow.

Very slowly and carefully, he leaned forward until he was looking out the crack in the curtains near the head of the bed. The cards were on his bureau, but nothing else was. Nothing was even near it. In spite of that, he could hear a slight fizzing noise and see a ghostly tendril of smoke floating lazily in the darkened space next to his bed. Harry mouthed a silent obscenity. What the bloody hell was going on?

After peering around one last time, and convincing himself that everyone was safely oblivious, Harry reached out and with a single quick motion snatched the deck of wizarding cards. He flipped them over to see the witch on the bottom, Alberta Toothill, hastily stuffing a wand in a fold in her robes. Harry was lucky he still had the silencing charm on his bed, because he had a very hard time containing himself. How had he not put this together before?

"You! You're the one whose been scoring my things!" Toothill said nothing, remaining completely still in the gloom.

"Don't try to fool me!" Harry said, almost half shouting. "I saw you! I ought to burn the lot of you!"

"Oh, go ahead," peeped Toothill. "Do you have any idea how boring it is being a card?"

"I said we should have spoken up sooner. It's not the boy's fault he's a bit thick," said another card immediately behind Toothill. A very pretty witch surveyed him; Sacharissa Tugwood. "He has lovely eyes, though," she added.

"Lovely," agreed a bizarre-looking wizard behind her; Uric the Oddball. "They'd be even lovelier if you kept your word and burned the lot of us. It was exciting for the first month or so, and even then after the second we could amuse ourselves with the writing on that table top. I can't say I enjoy looking at a wooden table-top for three months." Toothill and Tugwood nodded in agreement.

"This is...This is not happening."

"How can you say such a thing?" Toothill admonished. "You're looking at us!"

"If the others knew..." Harry paused. What would they say? Dumbledore, Scamander, Goshhawk, and Flamel were already going for five galleons a piece. He was holding a small fortune in his hands. A small fortune that felt very much like real people to him. "How could I burn you? That just...wouldn't feel right."

"We want it, lad," Uric said. "You can only spend so many nights on the same wooden top, listening to the same things." Toothill was nodding in agreement, but Tugwood had a look of slight distaste on her pretty face.

"I...couldn't do that. If you've been carving things into my chest of drawers why cant you simply do it yourself?"

"There is no way we can do that, boy," Toothill said, "we've tried. Even had the really mean ones have a go at it. We can cast spells, it appears, but nothing that spectacular. Maybe if we all worked together, but some people..." she glared at Tugwood. "...Some people won't have a go at it."

"Forgive me if I don't just want to give up. It isn't what I do."

"What can I do?" Harry asked, feeling silly for even having been dragged into this conversation in the first place.

"At least take us out a bit son," Agrippa said behind Uric. "Let us see _something_ new. As far as the lovely Miss Tugwood; I don't disagree, but the longer I'm around, the more I come to appreciate _other_ perspectives."

"The new ones...They stop working after a minute or so," Harry began.

"Oh, that must be wonderful!" Toothill sighed. Harry had never thought of it that way...maybe that was why they only lasted a minute...the twins may have discovered how lonely life was as a card. If anyone could appreciate living a full life it was them. They wouldn't ever condemn a witch or wizard--even if the witch or wizard wasn't real, strictly speaking--to a boring life.

"I honestly don't think it's in me to burn you up." Uric's face fell noticeably. "I can take you out with me, though. I didn't know that leaving you here was so terrible, but at least you'd get to hear new things."

"That's a fine idea," Agrippa said enthusiastically.

Uric nodded with a sour look in his face. "I suppose if you can't do the right thing, that's the next best thing."

"If you promise not to talk too much, I can even leave you out to have a peek around," Harry offered. He felt very foolish. A collection of Famous Wizard Cards was actually bargaining with him, asking to be destroyed. They had been behind the rash of vandalism on his bedside chest of drawers and he couldn't even say anything, because if anyone found out what he was holding on to, there would certainly be questions...Ron might even grow jealous again....as much as he made, it had to pale in comparison to what a permanently talking card was worth.

"Can I set you back down and trust you for the night?" He fanned the cards out in front of him, and all the most famous witches and wizards in history tried their best to look innocent. For some of them it was very difficult.

Harry didn't forget his promise. The next day, after he had dressed, he slipped the cards into a robe pocket and took them to every class. At times, he could have sworn he heard tiny voices floating up from the collection, but never were they loud enough to make any one else suspicious. It was very tempting to dig out the ones that were renowned for a particular skill and pick their brains, but he resisted the urge. Hermione cornered him and Ron after lunch.

"What is going on with _Operation Ferret_?"

"I wish I knew," Ron answered glumly.

"Haven't you read the letter from Fred and George?"

"No, and I don't want to."

"Why?"

"Why didn't you want to read it when you had it?" he replied, hotly.

"So basically what you're saying is that we don't know if Fred and George are just having a laugh at us right now?"

"They wouldn't do that," Ron grumbled. Harry wished that Ron could have sounded a little surer of himself. He'd been waiting for Operation Ferret to bear fruit somewhat impatiently himself, and now that he'd seen the kind of thing the twins could do with the cards he was more expectant, and more nervous, than ever.

"I'm going to give it another few weeks," Hermione announced imperiously. "If nothing happens. I'm going to assume that they've pulled one over on us." Ron shrugged; he knew better than to try to defend his brothers.


	23. Chapter 23 The Taste of Victory

**[AN]**

**I am late this time because I have a beta issue and also because I'm a bum and didn't get around to sending this to my other beta in a timely fashion. I promised I wouldn't give up though, and here it is, un-beta'd. If any of you grammar Gestapo need a project let me know...otherwise I know it's in need. I beta'd myself, which I know you aren't supposed to do (at least not well). Enjoy!**

**[/AN]**

**Chapter 23 - The Taste of Victory**

Hermione came to Harry the following day and offered him a small, sturdy-looking bottle, which appeared completely empty.

"Uh, thanks Hermione. I think."

"Look at it!" Hermione admonished.

Harry glanced down. There were definitely no potions, flames, or insects in this bottle, but there was something...Harry peered closer. A miniature common room was in the bottle, and a tiny Ron was making his way through, talking to someone Harry couldn't see. The little Ron laughed soundlessly. Harry had seen this before; In fact he'd been the one talking to Ron. Looking closer, one of his hands might have just been visible, and he was certain that he could see Parvati's foot. "This is amazing," Harry said, as the scene gradually evolved into how it must have looked now, with Parvati, Ron, Neville, and Connor all crowding around the lounge.

"That's _time in a bottle,_" Hermione pronounce proudly.

"That's...that's...wow!" Neville exclaimed

"It's nice, but not _that_ nice," Hermione said, blushing slightly.

"Actually, Hermione, It kind of is," Parvati said, staring at the reduced scene in the bottle. "Does this work for anywhere then? Can I see...oh I don't know...the great hall, for example?" Harry could hear the gears spinning in Parvati's head. A way to see what other people were up to, no matter where you were? That was just up Parvati's aisle.

"No, it only works ten feet around the bottle or so. Anyway, I was thinking we could have Harry carry it in his pocket."

Harry frowned. "Hermione, that will last exactly one day in my pocket, if that. Ill break it or lose it for sure. Why should I be carrying anything like that around anyway...you should be rich with all the things you can do."

Hermione fidgeted nervously, blushing more. "Well, losing it isn't something I can do anything about...but as for breaking it, that's nearly impossible. Time doesn't exist inside the glass. There isn't time for it to break. And you should carry it around in case anything ever happens to you. Maybe we could see what."

"That really won't do a lot of good after the fact, Hermione," Harry said. The look on her face convinced him that he would be carrying around another bottle for a while. For the moment, it was still being passed around and gawked at.

"Why don't they just do that for every bottle?" Neville said, still stuck on her comment about it being unbreakable, and time not existing inside the bottle. "I could use something that will keep my plants fresh forever."

"Time doesn't exist," Hermione repeated patiently. "That means as a bottle, it's worthless. You can't put anything in there, and if you did, you could never get it out again."

Neville looked as though he didn't understand; which made sense, because Harry was in the class, and he barely understood what was going on.

"I'll hold onto it then," Harry said. "Though if something happens to me I would rather have it that you all were so far away that a few minutes won't do you any good." Parvati and Hermione appeared to be sisters for the moment, as the looks they flashed him were nearly identical.

The only thing that happened that was in any way exciting over the next few days was Quidditch practice. In spite of his objection, and Natalie MacDonald's insistence that he ought to do otherwise, he was having trouble taking his loaner broom up to full speed. The way it trembled when he was going all-out unnerved him, and he had visions of the broom disappearing in a cloud of dust beneath him as he gave chase to the Snitch. Of course, Natalie wasn't being very helpful in scolding him.

"Nobody likes a chicken, Harry...How would you rather die, Harry?" Harry quite liked chicken himself, and given his options, he'd prefer to die of old age in his sleep, over being disintegrated in a broom accident. It was cold, so at least Katie didn't push them too hard; she was far too worried about injuries. This was the first year Harry had a chance to play every match, and Katie was going to succeed where Oliver Wood failed.

"Gold three!" That didn't involve him, so he could continue to search. Nothing lasted forever though, and soon she called a play he was in on.

"Red Rocket!" The red rocket was a gimmick play....in Harry's opinion a show of flair. The play brought not only Harry in, but Ron, and therefore, the rings and Snitch were both totally up for grabs. They started clustered around the fastest player--Natalie--and rushed as one as fast as the slowest broom would go. They were pure Bludger-bait, and Colin and Dennis were under enormous pressure to keep the lead balls on the right side of the bats. They couldn't tap and drive, because the whole of the Gryffindor squad was between them, and one well-placed Bludger could take out half the team, or at least cause a fumble and lose them a certain goal on an un-defended ring. The rest of the team, including Harry and Ron, rotated around the middle player, letting the Quaffle fall through their hands to the player below them, who scooped it only long enough to do the same. It was an atrociously foolish thing to do, but it looked fantastic. Harry was to break for the Snitch if he saw it, but he didn't think he'd be likely to with everything else that was happening. They ran through this improbable drill for a good fifteen minutes, far longer than was needed. It didn't involve a lot of complicated flying or handwork, so that was a plus. Katie had scoured the rulebooks for a rule prohibiting seekers or keepers from scoring with a Quaffle, and could find none, so she reasoned by way of omission that it was allowed. Harry wasn't so sure, but he wasn't going to object over a play they would be foolish to run.

The cards enjoyed flying, it turned out. Even Uric had to admit that it had been something new; and he couldn't insist be to be incinerated yet. Harry wasn't sure why it was any different to them than it would be if he was walking, but they said it was, and he believed them.

He struggled through the next week of his classes; it was hard work taking all of these notes and being a dedicated student, and he wasn't cut out for it. The cards made a difference; Toothill, it turned out, was keenly interested on hearing about any dueling at all. She would offer a word or two of advice, but very rarely. By far the most practical had been to fire off the curses from close to his body, and to pull his body away from the wand at the same time he was pulling the wand away from his body, rather than waste time extending the wand at all. At first, Harry didn't like doing that, since there were spells that required drawing the wand back to him, but then he realized that during a duel, he wouldn't be doing most of those spells. Other cards were interesting to talk to as well, though he was sure that they didn't have quite the personalities that their living counterparts must have had. The good seemed too lazy to be crusaders, and the evil seemed as if it was too much of a bother to be evil.

Throughout the week, Harry grew more and more aggravated. By Thursday, he had decided to follow Malfoy around for a whole evening, just to make sure that he wasn't missing anything, and also because he figured that sneaking around would help him blow off some steam. It didn't help that Voldemort had returned to silence...people were starting to wonder if he really was back, or if Harry and Dumbledore had been loopy all along. The entire wizarding world was walking deliriously on eggshells...waiting for either a dark mark floating in the sky or a hearty "fooled you!" from Dumbledore and Harry. The _Prophet_ had decided that the whole episode was mass hysteria and was painting a depressingly cynical picture of the two of them.

Up ahead of him, Draco was taking a very familiar course. He had walked it once, long ago, when Connor had seriously injured him, and eventually, Harry knew that he would end on top of the tower where he had been receiving the invisible messengers.

This time, Connor was nowhere to be found. Perhaps he had taken some type of strange potion, or perhaps he was simply otherwise occupied with Natalie. They were a strange pair; that much was for sure. That brought Harry to Parvati, and he found himself daydreaming as he shuffled silently after Malfoy under the invisibility cloak. Parvati was a saint for putting up with him as well as she had. She had earned that SkyBall, just by suffering the nasty gossip floating around the school. Harry wasn't totally oblivious; a large number of the students passed through D.A. two nights a week, and he knew what they were saying about her. As plugged in as Parvati was; she had to hear twice as much as he did. Between that and dealing with his moodiness, he had no idea why she still wanted to talk to him. He certainly wouldn't want to put up with his antics.

Ahead of him, Malfoy had stopped and was looking cautiously around, so Harry stopped, just to make sure that he wouldn't make any noise whatsoever. After a moment, Malfoy continued around the corner which marked the end of his aborted trip the last time Harry followed him. This time, he wasn't assaulted, and he continued on at a brisk pace. Harry was having a hard time following him and remaining silent enough to be assured that any noise he was making was covered by Draco's echoing footsteps.

When they came to the stairs to the tower, Harry paused. They were a worn wood, and there was no way he could walk up them without them creaking on him. He'd have to follow Draco and hope that he could make it close enough to the top to see where the Slytherin went from there. Step by painstaking step, he mirrored Malfoy's steps. The stairs creaked more than once, but the walls were stone, and fortunately they did funny things to the noises in the stairwell. Harry couldn't even tell if it was his stair or Draco's making noise. When Malfoy reached the top, Harry paused. He'd made it nearly to the top, and peeked over the edge of the floor, while Draco walked to the center of the room, which looked familiar. The blond Sytherin raised his wand, and a trapdoor in the ceiling popped open. Immediately a rope snaked its way down from above. Harry was about to scoff at the idea that Draco would climb a rope like a Muggle child, when Draco place his foot in a loop tied into the braid and flicked the wand tip up. The rope obediently tugged him up, through the hole in the roof. Harry could see stars, but there must have been some sort of enchantment to keep the weather at bay, because he couldn't feel cold air. It was definitely cold out there in the Scottish night.

After the door slammed shut, Harry waited in the swirling dust and silence until he was convinced that Draco wasn't going to spring the door open and catch him spying. After a few long minutes in the room, Harry realized that he could hear Draco's footsteps. The Slytherin was walking by the north edge of the small tower right now. Still, Harry knew better than to take off the cloak. The ceiling of the great hall was proof enough that you could see through walls, if you wanted to badly enough. What was to stop Draco (or someone else) from doing the same thing, only backwards to the roof, or even just the small trap door? It's what Harry would do.

From under the cloak he looked around, trying to remember when he'd seen this room. He didn't remember coming up to this tower before...with a jerk he realized that it was the tower from his mother's memory...the railings and partitions around the outside were gone, and it made a huge difference, or he'd have spotted it right off.

Harry walked around the room, until he was standing where his mother had crouched almost two decades ago. If he squinted his eyes, he could almost see all of the people in the room. He uncertainly walked over to the pillar Wormtail had been idly carving in the memory. At first he saw nothing, but then he brushed away some of the grime of an accumulated seventeen years, and under it he saw a very faint design. It was faded and barely discernable, as if it had been repaired at some point in time. It was quite a nice drawing of a stag...certainly much better than Harry's first effort at making a sigil. He felt sick to his stomach. What did that mean? He stared at it for a long time, until Draco's footsteps alerted him to the fact that the pale Slytherin was coming back down. Harry simply moved to the back of the room and watched Malfoy descend via the enchanted rope and stalk down the noisy stairs. Operation Ferret had once again failed to pay off, but the night hadn't been a total waste. Harry was loathe to admit it, but he was finding that he coped with life a little better when there was a little pressure. He had discovered over holiday that though he enjoyed loafing, and though he was certainly very good at it, it had certainly left him feeling somewhat empty. Maybe that was how Parvati felt when she didn't have a secret to guard.

After a long period of abstractly wondering what Wormtail had been thinking when he carved a stag in the ancient wood of Hogwarts, Harry shook his head and started back to the common room. A voice he recognized almost immediately drifted up from his pocket.

"Are you done sneaking around?" Harry fumbled with the cards and turned them over to reveal Justus Pilliwickle.

"How do you know if I'm sneaking about?"

"Give us some credit, boy," Pilliwickle sighed. "We aren't totally clueless you know. We know when to keep our mouths shut."

"I noticed," Harry replied. "You kept them shut the whole year."

"Indeed, boy!" Pilliwckle grinned. He was one of the cards that Harry enjoyed talking to the most, because he was so normal, and, Harry supposed, well-adjusted...for a card. In life, Pilliwickle was a very popular head for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Harry found that Justus had probably held that post through sheer determination...the man didn't seem like anything special, but his stories all had the common thread that he wasn't brilliant, or fast with a wand, or exceptionally hard..._Bad-Ass_ is what Dudly's friends would have said. Justus had occasionally been fooled. He had been out-drawn and out matched, but in every story, he had simply wanted to win more than his opponent. That was something with which Harry could identify. Harry fanned them out and glanced at the cards.

"I was following someone who...does some bad things."

"Getting a start on the old Auror training?" Justus winked. "That _is_ what you want to be?"

"I think so."

"Oh my dear boy...you'd better know so. You can't find yourself in a situation and think you should _probably _be there. You have to know you're the right man in the right place, even if you're the wrong man in the decidedly wrong place." Harry nodded.

"He's right," said a voice from deep within the deck. Harry almost jumped. Even thin and distorted, he would know the Headmaster's voice anywhere. Harry thumbed through the cards until he found the picture of Dumbledore, who was smiling benignly.

"There's something you're not telling us, isn't there?" Dumbledore asked.

"I believe so," said a black-haired wizard below him. Harry recognized Salazar Slytherin even before he saw his name ..a stylized version of his face had disgorged the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets. "No boy is that jumpy...not unless he's scared out of his mind, or doing something wrong. Are you doing something that wrong, boy?" None of the cards seemed to know who he was, so Harry was getting used to being called "boy," "lad," and other derivatives. He shook his head.

"Headmaster, what do you know about....Voldemort?"

"Rather less than a useful amount, I suspect. You'll find that my image may look as if it belongs next to you, but it's be some time since the knowledge I possess was made available. I know you, but only because I knew your father and mother so well." Harry went through the collection, one by one.

"Do any of you know about Voldemort?" He was greeted by shaking heads and confused looks. "Well, it's like this..."

A solid forty-five minutes later, some of the cards were looking very downcast. Toothill was shaking her head and Tugwood was misty-eyed.

"That's _terrible,_" the pretty witch said. Even Slytherin was looking somewhat uncomfortable.

"I commend his dedication," he said. "What he's doing though...there's a difference between keeping the blood pure and downright murder...You breed out impurity...distill it through time..."

"That is a most terrible bit of news" Dumbledore uttered at last. Justice was shaking his head. The cards were around Harry as if he was teaching a class and had his own tiny audience.

"So uh...any ideas?" Harry asked. He was looking for advice from Wizarding Cards, and that fact wasn't lost on him. All around him, the witches and wizards on the cards shook their collective heads or voiced negatives. Harry looked over the cards, his eyes settling on Justus.

"Perseverance, boy...Mr. Potter."

"I dare say he'll need a good deal more then _perseverance,_" Rowena Ravenclaw said. Some of the witches of wizards from too far back didn't talk much, because there were so few portraits made of them that were capable, Harry supposed. The line seemed to be around 1700 or so...the ones before that would talk, but not like Justus or Dumbledore or even Stroulger, the inventor of the Sneakoscope. There were exceptions of course, but Harry had to imagine Uric was really much more odd in real life, and Toothill could have certainly given him more pointers about dueling. He suspected they couldn't remember most of what they had known in real life. If they could, Merlyn or Ravenclaw would be worth 10 galleons easily, even for only a minute of life. There probably just wasn't enough of them left to be all that useful, academically.

"Well, if _I_ see him, I'm going to give him a piece of my mind!" Toothill said resolutely. Several voices chimed up in agreement.

"I need to pick you up and get back now...d'you mind?" Hearing no objections, he stacked the cards neatly and tucked them into his robes. He could hear their muttered voices as they chatted excitedly to each other. Perhaps this would give them enough to think about...they wouldn't have to resort to carving dirty poems into his furniture.

The next day, Natalie stopped him on the way to Quidditch practice.

"Come with me a moment, Harry." She led him around to women's side of the changing rooms. She looked at his face briefly. He was glancing at the door hesitantly.

"Perv!" She announced.

"I'm not even-"

"I'm kidding, Harry! Lighten up! I have something of yours..." She reached into the changing room and pulled forth a broom that had been leaning against the door frame.

"My Firebolt!" Harry cradled the broom as if it was a kitten.

"Yes, well, I'm sorry, but Hermione was watching me far too closely for me to risk attempting anything...unnatural."

"I really don't mind...I was afraid I'd have to ride...oh, not like it's bad...I mean, I appreciate-"

"No, I get it," Natalie said. "I wouldn't want to fly on anything but my arrow, tomorrow. Anyway, it's not like I could really squeeze that much more out of it. I mean, it _is_ a Firebolt. Anything they can do to make it faster, they basically have; much better than I ever could."

"Well, I don't know how I can ever thank you," Harry breathed. His Firebolt felt warm to the touch, as if it wanted to be back in his hand, and was just waiting.

"Thank me after we win tomorrow," Natalie said.

"Think we will?"

"I think if we don't something is seriously wrong. Hufflepuff isn't as bad off as us, but they were never as good as us to begin with. Besides, they don't have the juice in their brooms to keep up with us the whole game. Frankly, I'd be very surprised if we didn't beat them before capturing the Snitch." She looked at his broom. "Don't be afraid to unwind that, Harry. We need to know if it acts funny, and you have to push it...it should be under stress the whole time, if you can."

Harry thought he most certainly could. He had his broom back! His most cherished possession was back with him! If his broom was a person, he'd have definitely considered hugging it. The match on Saturday held even more importance now....he'd get to fly his broom in the kind of environment it was meant for....he'd know for sure if it was back to normal.

The next day marked three special occurrences. The first two were the match with Hufflepuff and also a break in the weather. As excited as Harry was to get back on his broom, the thought of flying through absolutely frigid air was a bit of a tweak to the nose. Still, Saturday found him standing exuberantly on the pitch, waiting to jump into the match.

"Now no one take these folks for granted," Katie said in the pre-match meeting. "They want to win as much as we do, and if they get the chance...if _we_ get lazy, they very well may. I want you to score right out of the gate. It's important that we take this game and never give it back."

Natalie looked prepared to do that. Her knees were bent and her broom was tilted up so severely that the twigs in the brush were nearly touching her ankles, and the handle, her forehead. Madam Hooch stood in the middle, and when she tossed the Quaffle into the air to start the match, it appeared to move in slow motion. Natalie was in the air faster than seemed humanly possible, and Harry followed her up.

"And Right off, MacDonald has the Quaffle...and it doesn't look like she's going to pass it off. She's taking it down the alley..." Harry, however, couldn't follow Owen's commentary. He had problems of his own. Just now, something had flitted right over his shoulder and kept pace with him on the Firebolt. He had the presence of mind not to turn his head or show that he'd seen it in any way. Down the pitch, Natalie had one person to beat, Harry couldn't even tell who. Even now, as he watched the Snitch from the corner of his eye, she was dipping under whomever it was, maybe Zacharias Smith, with a graceful swoop while cocking her hand. She released the ball, and Harry knew that it was going to miss from the moment it left her fingertips.

Harry followed the Quaffle's path as it arced through the sky. He had begun to reach up for the Snitch when the Quaffle bounced off the left-most ring and started to tumble in slow motion, as if it was an ember in the cold air, unhurried, and with no place in particular it had to be. In a moment of swiftness--even in the slow-motion that had momentarily overcome the scene--a flash of red darted from beneath the Quaffle; scooping it up and flicking it casually through the closest ring. The red of her hair out-shone the red of her Gryffindor robes, and the crowd, which seemed to have holding its breath, exhaled with a jubilant shout. A scant moment later, Harry's hand closed around the Snitch, ending the game. The whole thing happened in less time than it would have taken to have the Quaffle, with its featherlight enchantments, to fall to the ground from the center ring.

Owen was still yammering on, but Harry couldn't understand him yet. The crowed was maniacal, in part because it was so warm, compared to what it was, and in part because Gryffindor had just closed out what might have the shortest game in Howarts history. Sloper and Kirke were carrying Harry off the field on their shoulders. They had tried to carry Ginny off first, and Dean scared them away with a frightening look. Ginny didn't appear as if she appreciated him "sticking" up for her, but she was mobbed too quickly to make any kind of scene.

Back in the common room, the MVP trophy was resting on the mantle.

"We didn't get to provide many statistics for this game," Dean said. "I mean, we could look at the lines but...not really much there, is there?" The Gryffindors cheered loudly. Dean brushed the trophy, looking casually at the game's lines. "MacDonald with an assist, Weasley with a goal, and Potter with a capture _six seconds_ into the match. I don't have the official records, but that may be a new record. Is there anyone here silly enough to think Potter doesn't deserve this award? No? That's what I thought."

Dean touched the trophy, and Harry's face peered back at him. There was a portrait of a lone figure who might have been Harry capturing the Snitch. The biggest indicator that it might be him was that the broom was definitely a Firebolt. There wasn't as big a party this time around, but that was because everyone was certain that they'd win this match, and Natalie was no longer a secret weapon. McGonagall didn't even have to remind them to wrap it up.

"I daresay...was that _flying_ we were doing earlier?" Fulbert the Fearful asked with a stammer.

"Yep!" Harry replied proudly.

"It felt...different than all the times before."

"It was my Firebolt," Harry replied, proudly. "The greatest broom on the planet!"

"I...I rather enjoyed it, actually."

"Way to be a man," Uric pronounced boisterously. "I knew there was more to you!" Harry had since discovered that Uric was 'the oddball' primarily because he had been so bored with life; why use a jellyfish for a hat? Why not? Had he been born later, he very likely would have been a test pilot for brooms or dragon handler.

"It was...exhilarating," Tilly Toke said with a breathy voice, which reminded Harry very much of Parvati's. Parvati had been somewhat dismayed that the match had ended so soon, until she realized that no one was leaving the stands. In actuality, what Harry had done was provide her and Lavender (and their other cohorts) with a solid half hour of prime information gathering time, without the distraction of Quidditch, although she informed Harry that there were times when gathering the goods was easier when people were preoccupied with something else. Harry had been trying to make her talent useful to him, but people like Draco played the really important things too close to the vest. A holistic view might have been fine for someone like Walken, Shacklebolt, or even Ron, who could all follow strategy with apparent ease, but Harry had no delusions about his ability to divine a plan from a few randomly occurring events. He was good enough at understanding things once they had happened, but it was a bit late then.

"I promise I'll take you again then, if you don't mind being stuck in my pocket."

"Mind?" Tugwood asked. "We don't _mind_. It's...perfect there!" She batted her eyelashes, which made Harry feel warm. She _was_ an extraordinarily pretty witch. Harry had actually had a long discussion with her the second or third night after he had discovered the secret of the cards. Her beauty was often a handicap to her in life...no one wanted to take her seriously, because they figured that no one that striking could be intelligent. Harry found himself wondering if things had changed since then. Sure, there were the Cho Changs of the world, but there were also the Parvatis...he'd never really given her enough credit until he actually talked to her. Regardless, Tugwood's initial intent had been to make everyone beautiful, so that people could be judged on what they said and did, rather than how they looked.

"Hello," a voice behind him said, making him jump and shove the cards into his pocket. Parvati stood there, and he was very glad that he'd managed to get the tiny portraits stowed before she saw anything she shouldn't.

"Were you about to pull a wand on me?"

"C'mon, give me some credit," he said, thinking quickly. "I have something for you. Parvati eyed him wearily and sat down. Harry reached into the inside pocket of his robe and pulled forth a rather mundane-looking quill.

"That's not one of Weasley's; one of those quills that write all wonky, is it?"

"No!" Harry insisted. "Use your thing!" She pulled the SkyBall from her shirt and paused.

"You aren't just looking for an excuse to get me in the dark, are you?"

"Of course I am," Harry proclaimed, somewhat proudly. Let her take that however she wanted. After a brief pause, she activated the ball, and the amazing globe of night rushed outwards. Harry handed over the quill, which was glowing softly.

"Not another gift, Harry! You know I can't-"

"It cost about the same as a real date, except it was even better. If I ever have to set foot in Madame Puddifoot's again, I might hex myself, just out of shame."

"Are you saying you'd be ashamed to be with me?"

"I'm just saying..." Harry paused. "Wait a minute...you're having me on, aren't you?" Parvati was giggling...not the obnoxious Lavender compadre giggle, but the lilting one that he rather enjoyed.

"You worry entirely too much about saying the right thing, Mister Potter. You can't make me happy with every waking word, or you'll train me to walk all over you."

"I'm not sure I'd mind that," Harry said pensively. Parvati punched him in the shoulder. For such a girly-girl, Parvati was surprisingly good at that.

Later on, with a warm feeling in his chest, at least for the night, Harry closed his eyes, and drifted off.

The next day saw the return of normal life; books, schoolwork, and Voldemort. The dark mark had been seen adrift in the hazy sky over York, though as of yet, there were no reported casualties, no damage, and nothing was amiss. The _Prophet_ blamed errant ne'r-do-wells, and when into great depth describing how Y-K-W hadn't been seen in a long time, and not be more than a handful even then. Hermione was prattling on endlessly about how unfair things were, and Harry had, for the most part, tuned her out. He knew life was unfair from a very early age. It had been one of the lessons that the Dursleys had been very efficient in teaching him.

Midway through the tirade, Ron lightly punched his arm. Harry looked over, but his mouth was full, and he had also learned the rule about talking with your mouth full. Ron just nodded, directing Harry's attention to the Slytherin table. Malfoy was even paler than normal, and seemed to be quivering. He did not look healthy at all.

"What d'you reckon his problem is?"

"I missed the part where I should care," Harry said, gulping down the food he had just to answer.

"Oh, it's not like I care. It's just that strangling on a bit of sandwich seems too good for that..._Malfoy_." Ron spit out Draco's name as though it was some sort of curse. Meanwhile, Malfoy's day was growing progressively worse. His normally immaculate hair was sticking up in odd tufts, almost as Harry's did. He was clutching at his throat, but it was obvious that he was still breathing, and as they watched, fine hair seemed to glisten on his cheeks and hands. Other people were starting to take notice.

As they watched, Malfoy staggered back and with a shout, disappeared in a cloud of white. Ron had leapt to his feet by now, along with half of the great hall. He had the height advantage over almost all of them.

"What the..." Ron started.

"Who cares?" Harry shrugged. He was mildly curious, but he wasn't going to give Malfoy the satisfaction of looking interested. He'd catch up later...Parvati was bound to know what was up. Then he noticed a tall figure near where Malfoy had last been seen. Snape had a hold of Connor's robes.

"It's this one! He and Mister Malfoy have-"

"Severus! Release my student at once!" Minerva McGonagall was hurrying down the aisle, her tartan robes billowing.

"He used transfiguration on a student! That is an offense punishable by-"

"I have him in my class. I can assure you, he is not your culprit!" Harry had to agree. Connor was lucky he was even still in transfiguration, and had he been in another house, McGonagall likely would have bounced him already. Anyone in the great hall who could be watching now, was.

"None the less," Snape said in an oily voice, "we'll have to check the wand. Colier?" Snape held out one hand.

"Over my dead body!" Connor exclaimed, jerking away.

"Mister Colier!" McGonagall held out her hand. Connor reluctantly placed his wand in her hand.

"You'll get it back after we check it."

"Provided we find nothing...amiss," Snape added. The scowl that McGonagall shot at Snape was truly epic.

"Sit down Colier...at your own table," McGonagall added. Connor made his way through a crowd now reluctant to move. Harry's attention was certainly riveted on the situation. He didn't really care about Malfoy that much, but such a big scene had already been made that even the totally uninvolved students had to wonder what was going on. Through a break in the students he saw Malfoy just as McGonagall returned him to normal. Harry only got a glimpse, but Draco looked to have be transfigured into a very large white rat. When he regained his normal shape, he glared balefully at anyone who would meet his eyes, no doubt looking for naked wands. When he could see none, he tossed his hair and walked out with as much regality as he could muster. Ron was tapping his arm distractedly.

"What do you want?" Harry asked, slapping Ron's hand away.

"I think we've just seen _Operation Ferret_."


	24. Chapter 24 A Visit with the Masters

**Chapter 24 - A Visit with the Masters**

Harry didn't say anything to Ron as Malfoy exited the great hall.

"Please tell me we did not do _that_," Hermoine whispered desperately. Ron was silently shrugging.

"Who cares?" Harry answered. "He deserves a lot more. Frankly, I'm a little upset that it's all he's getting."

"He could have been on a broom! A hundred feet in the air!" That didn't occur to Harry, but it sounded like a fine idea to him. "I can't believe I let you two talk me into this..."

"Don't start, Hermione," Harry said irately. Ron had almost eliminated criticizing Hermione, so he couldn't be counted on to say something that might offend her. Harry was finding it much easier to do, on the rare occasion that she required it. Around him, people were whispering, though there was a general air of confusion. People didn't seem to know what to make of it...Harry didn't know what to make of it himself. Until he got a chance to read the Weasly brothers' letter, there was no way to even tell whether Malfoy had done the transfiguration on purpose. Still, Harry had the sinking certainty that he knew what had caused the transfiguration.

When they got back to the dormitory, Ron dug though his chest for almost the entire night in a futile attempt to find the letter the twins had sent explaining Operation Ferret. Harry was almost sure that Malfoy had been a rat, and not a ferret, but when he thought about it, nothing else made sense. Hermione was livid that Harry and Ron had talked her into helping, but Neville seemed quietly satisfied. Neville wasn't even asking about what had happened; probably because he felt about the same as Harry did...Perhaps Ron was too enamored with trying to behave for Hermione, but Neville had a long and unhappy history where Malfoy was concerned, and Harry wouldn't be surprised if they shared the same attitude; whatever the Slytherin got, he had long deserved.

Harry was especially careful the next day. If Malfoy was the victim of some sort of prank, Harry's or otherwise, he'd be looking for revenge, and no one would be safe. Harry wished he could have walked around with the Marauder's Map open, just to see who was around the next corner.

A few times, he a turned the bend only to run into a group of people. One time Kingsley was behind him.

"Ease up, Potter," the huge bald black auror rumbled softly.

"Excuse me?" Harry had been paying attention to the people in front of him, not the people behind him.

Kingsley stepped up smoothly to his side, and spoke without moving his lips. "I said, 'Lighten up, Potter.' You look as if you're going to curse someone. Makes one wonder what you're really up to."

Harry was trying to look innocent, when a tiny voice barely reached his ear. "Told you he was too jumpy," Slytherin smugly pronounced. Kingsley looked down, but Harry simply shrugged as if to say _who me_? He had to resist the urge to clamp his hands over the cards.

Kingsley passed him by with an easy loping stride, and Harry had a brief moment to relax. Draco would be foolish to try anything with the auror so close. Harry had made it all the way through the day and was on his way to Muggle Studies, and purebloods like Draco didn't even like to hang around in that area of the castle, so Harry figured he was somewhat safe there. Most of the kind of students apt to be in the area of Muggle Studies didn't care for Malfoy or his friends anyway, so it wasn't likely that Draco would choose that spot for an ambush.

As he walked slowly back from class with Parvati, he managed to get most of the story from her. Draco had been transfigured into a large, white rat, and he was absolutely livid. From the sound of it, he didn't know who to blame, though most people seemed to agree that Connor was a convenient suspect. Connor's wand had been returned to him, and everyone important had declared him innocent of this crime, but it didn't do a whole lot to change anyone's mind. If it wasn't an infatuated girl (of which there were less and less), most of the students didn't trust him.

Draco was ignoring that rumor and Connor; probably so he could focus his rage on Harry. Harry was amused that Draco would ignore what everyone else thought, just to blame him. In his mind it was funny in an ironic way that Draco would ignore the evidence to the contrary and still be right about exactly who had turned him into a great rat.

"Whats up then, mate?" Ron interrupted Harry's thoughts as he slumped into the seat next to Harry on the lounge in the common room. Parvati was on the other side, but she was mostly keeping to herself today. She did look up at Ron long enough to nod briefly, then turned back to scribbling in a heavy, leather-bound book.

"What have you got there?" he asked her, before Harry could figure out what was up.

"My journal," Parvati answered, without looking up. Ron didn't appear as if he cared at all what was in the book. After a glimpse that was more bored curiosity than anything else, he looked back to the fire.

"Are you keeping an eye on things?" Ron asked finally.

"Of course," Harry answered with bravado he didn't entirely feel. "That rat is trying to get to me, but he's going to have to wake up early in the morning before he can surprise me."

"Rat?" Parvati was watching them now, no longer writing.

"Malfoy," Ron answered. Parvati continued to stare at Harry. Her big green eyes reminded him of Olivander the wand maker's, in a substantially less creepy way.

"He thinks I'm the one turning him into a rat," Harry explained.

"Are you?" Parvati asked.

Harry had been expecting this. He had formulated an answer ahead of time...one that wasn't exactly a lie _per se_. He had merely asked the twins for a way to get even...they had been the ones responsible. He couldn't prove it, but he was becoming more and more certain of it every moment. "No," he answered smoothly. "Not that I mind. As far as I'm concerned, it's just his body matching the rest of him."

Parvati smirked, and after a while turned back to her writing. Harry was mildly disturbed by how easy that had come to him. The next day, Parvati walked with him more than she usually did, and it wasn't hard to see that she was keeping an eye out for any of Draco's funny business.

It was Tuesday before Malfoy finally caught up with Harry alone. Parvati couldn't follow him around forever, even if he wanted her to, which he didn't. He felt somewhat awkward about the idea of her covering him.

Walking to potions wasn't an ordeal. Though it was in the dungeon and you had to traverse a labyrinth of corridors to reach it; walking with Neville, Hermione, and Connor gave him a certain sense of security.

When he got into potions, Draco was glaring at him so fiercely that he could feel it. Hermione was feeling a little ill, and she looked queasy as well. She was blaming it on the influenza inoculation they had received earlier.

"Professor?" she said hesitantly. Snape glared at her.

"I'm not...i'm not feeling so well," Hermione continued. "I think the fumes in here might be getting to me. May I go to the infirmary?"

Harry expected Snape to come back with some sort of scathing commentary, but instead he simply pointed toward the door. Hermione exited before Snape had time to reconsider. Neville and Connor glanced at each other, and then Harry. Neville's Ghost potion was nearly finished. Harry was almost sure that Neville had worked on it outside of class, which was a amazing; Neville hated Professor Snape. It left Neville with only his reports to do. Connor hadn't talked about his potion. Harry had lent him the book from Remus Lupin; the one where he had gotten his idea for the binding potion, and so Harry was left to assume that it was something also related to animagus transformation in some way. Harry's potion was starting to seem more like the book had suggested it would. He'd put a sample of it into the Colibri flask that Arthur Weasley had given him for his birthday, just so Draco couldn't ruin it again.

Harry still hadn't figured out what was in that last potion that Draco had slipped him. Nothing had fallen off or turned inside out yet. Draco couldn't say the same.

At the end of class, Snape stopped the three of them. "I need to talk to you, Longbottom. You too, Colier. Potter, go to your common room."

"Can I just wait for...?" he started.

"No!" Snape snapped. "Get out."

Harry shuffled through the door, cursing the day of Snape's birth. As he walked slowly back to his room he heard a slight noise behind him. Belatedly, he drew his wand, just as Toothill had advised him, and in time to deflect a curse. The beam of dark violet ricocheted from his shield charm and very nearly rebounded on Malfoy. It passed over his left shoulder and Harry could see the spot where his robe was singed. Malfoy spit another three curses in rapid succession

"You're crazy, Malfoy!" Harry was having to move very quickly.

"No, Saint Potter," Mafoy answered back, puffing with exertion. "You're the one who's crazy, if you think you can do that to a Malfoy and get away with it!"

"Do what?" Harry managed, though Malfoy was too worked up to bother answering. Harry was pretty sure he knew anyway. Something thudded and grunted, and the curses stopped. Harry squinted into the dark hallway to see Draco pinned against the wall buy a lone figure with dark, wavy hair.

"You two boys should be ashamed of yourselves...fighting in the hallway. An innocent passer-by could have been seriously injured! Potter; detention. Mr. Malfoy-"

"...Is my responsibility." Snape said from the hallway behind them, with Connor and Neville watching on. "Thank you, _professor_."

"But-" Ambrose Walken began.

"That is all, Professor Walken. Since Draco is in my house, I really must insist that the repercussions for this indecent fall to me. I am, after all, the professor most familiar with him."

"Very well," Walken acquiesced.

"I will sort this out," Snape continued. "I can assure you, Mister Malfoy will get what he deserves." Snape led a gloating Malfoy away, whispering quietly in his ear, while Harry, Neville, Connor, and Professor Walken looked on. Finally the Temporalist turned to Harry.

"Be in my office tomorrow at five, Potter. It looked to me like you were doing defensive magic, not curses, so there's no reason this has to go beyond us three. I somehow doubt that it will make it any further than Snape."

"Why's he in trouble at all?" Connor asked.

"Because there are rules, Connor, and they need to be rules for everyone, not just the Potters or Malfoys or Coliers. I came here to talk to Snape, and I can see that's not going to happen now, so let's get moving."

Of course, now that Malfoy was presumably detained, and escort was really un-necessary. They walked with him anyway because it would look odd not to. Detention for Walken...now that would be a real pain.

***

"Come in, Harry." Harry paused. His instructor looked ashen and was moving with a deliberately slow gait. A suspicious-looking flask rested on the large desktop behind him.

"Are...are you _drunk_?" Harry stammered. Walken seemed to consider that question very seriously.

"No," he decided at last. "Not yet."

"I'm not sure if I should be here," replied Harry, shifting from foot to foot. "I'm not sure that this is exactly...proper."

"Think I'm a pervy old deuce, do you then? Fair enough, I suppose, although I must say that I was looking forward to our conversation tonight. Minerva tells me you are aware of her...accommodations. It would be so nice to chat with someone with no fear of letting something slip."

"_Accommodations_?" mused Harry aloud, until he realized that Walken was referring to the de-aging spell McGonagall had been using. She'd all but admitted that Walken went to school with her then. Harry took a hesitant step forward.

"If you're sure I'm not intruding, professor. If you'd rather be spending time with other people, I can always leave. And come back, even."

"That's very polite of you, Mister Potter. Do you ever finding yourself chatting with an old friend, someone to whom you can bare your soul, and finding that you sometimes just wish you had a fresh set of eyes on things?" Harry thought about Parvati. That was more or less exactly how he viewed the relationship between them. Hermione was the smartest person he knew, outside of Dumbledore, and sometimes he found himself wishing that he was asking the same questions of Parvati. Certainly, Parvati couldn't have helped him make his signet, but Parvati wouldn't have wanted to, either. Her answer to him would have been far more personal. Harry loved Hermione, and he'd do anything for her, but he thought he could understand where Walken was coming from. "Mister Potter? If you would like to serve your detention on a different day, we can work something out..."

"No," Harry said. "I'm okay with tonight, if you are." He stepped into the office, and set his heavy bag down. Professor Walken stared at the door, and then turned back to Harry.

"Let's get started then, shall we?" Walken asked, momentarily renewed. He moved behind his desk, and tossed the flask into a side drawer.

"Marvelous invention, that," he said, pointing at the drawer. "It occurs to me now that I should have had you create flasks with the tempus sinus charm done up on them....could make pumpkin juice last forever. If you like it. I never cared for it. The wand sleeves were ok, but how many school lads like yourself have to worry about someone summoning their wands?" Harry nodded. Something he had been wondering bubbled to his lips before he could stop it.

"So you de-age yourself every morning then? I expected you to be..."

"Old?" Walken finished. "Yes...I am old, of that there is no doubt. I have a confession to make...I'm afraid I have to ask you to make a very solemn promise to me first." Walken had his wand out now, a shiny black one of about twelve inches. Harry suddenly wished he'd taken his wand out now.

"I can see that you're nervous," Walken said. "You don't have a reason to be, you know. When I was young, and you were asking a wizard to promise, the two lads involved...or lasses, whatever...would touch wands. We always thought that if we did tell that somehow it would cause our tongues to swell in our throats, our teeth to soften up, and our lips to grow together...even if we just thought about ever telling. Now that I look back on it; it didn't work all that well. Anyway, that's what I was about." Harry pulled his wand, being careful to maintain a tight grip on it, then tapped Walken's. Certainly they weren't casting anything ancient and powerful, but Harry felt a stirring in his wand-hand nonetheless. It could have been his imagination. Walken got up and pulled a very dusty tome from his book-case, which had a few dozen thick books. Harry saw that Walken had written a few of them. They looked thick...incredibly boring. He laid the book on the desk, and Harry was only mildly surprised to see _How to Cheat Time_ by Aloicious Fugit. The professor's copy was very obviously older and much worse for wear than the one Harry had attempted to take from the Hogwart's library.

"Yes, yes; you and this book are well-met, I think. It has quite a bit of...questionable information in it. It even tells how to cheat causality! Aloicus was fond of not telling the entire truth; however." He opened the book to a spot which had been marked with a discoloured ribbon. The book fell open to that spot, as if it was a quite well used passage. The subject matter there was familiar to Harry, because they had read it in class...It was something to do with how unpredictable temporalism was when used on living things. This book was much like his school books, in that it had scribbling in the margins. Harry couldn't read it though; he though it may have been Latin, or something like it.

"Once upon a time I studied this book --lived it, really-- in order to divulge Fugit's secrets. You see, it has quite a bit of the truth...enough to be very dangerous in the hands of an amateur. There are passages, for example, about slowing and even stopping aging. Oh yes, Fugit never comes out and says that it can be done for people, but he does all but."

"Professor McGonagall told me you stopped yourself from aging. How?"

"A terrible accident, Potter. One that I arranged. One that I have never been able to duplicate or reverse. There is a price you see...one with which you are all too familiar."

"What could be so bad about being immortal? Isn't that what Voldemort wants?"

"Immortal? No. Ageless? Yes. Believe me, if someone dropped a rock on me I'd be done...but as long as I'm not killed..."

"You never get old."

"I never get old," Walken agreed. "I was keen on it at first; the first ten or twenty years...Then do you know what happened?" Harry shook his head. "One by one, my family succumbed to the world outside. First my parents. Then my brother. Then it was a string of good friends, some older, some younger, but all dear. Then I realized that death wasn't an obstacle; that I had not cheated it. I had cheated myself, Potter." He looked at Harry's wondering face. "You don't want to hear me feeling sorry for myself," he said. "I shouldn't have lain that all at your feet, Harry. I'm sorry." Harry shrugged and looked at the book.

"You haven't told me how that cheats causality."

"So I haven't. Good catch, Potter. I'm glad one of us is thinking today, at least." Walken paused a moment, during which he seemed to compose himself. Then he struggled to his feet, only bracing himself on the desk slightly. He pulled a silvery key from the neck of his shirt and unlocked the cabinet behind him, which sounded as though it was a very secure place to put things. He turned around with something familiar looking in his hands.

"Is that a prophecy?" Harry gasped as Walken handled the small glass sphere inside carefully. Walken looked up with some surprise.

"It isn't...but you have a good eye. I found the glass globes intended to store prophecies convenient. They are too frail, and I've remedied that. All the same...ah....don't touch." He set the globe on a small brass ring that was on his desk. You could never have too many brass rings, Harry had found. Wizards seemed especially fond of spheres, and from crystal balls to whatever this thing was, the humble brass ring showed its utility time and time again. Every well prepared wizard had one or more.

The ball itself was a different matter. As Harry gazed, he saw the room in which they were sitting, complete with a tiny Professor Walken and Harry Potter.

"Is this some kind if _time in a bottle_ then?" Harry asked, gazing at himself talking to Professor Walken. In the globe, he saw Walken stiffen.

"Exactly how much _do _you know...am I missing something here?"

Harry fished around in his pocket, but the Time in a Bottle wasn't there. He shrugged. "Hermione made one...it...some...however. All I know is that is that it seems dead useful." It had a tendency to fall out of his pocket and lodge in between the cushions on the lounge in the common room. He'd bet money that it was snuggled safely among a cloud of red, replaying whatever had happened during the last two minutes in the area around it.

"Well, it would be, but wizards don't think the same as Muggles. They forget about some of the truly mundane problems. Mental blind spots, I expect. I don't imagine most wizards regard it as more than a novel curiosity. How long does Miss Granger's last?"

"Two, maybe three minutes," Harry said. Something about Walken's globe fascinated him. It seemed to glow _inward_. He couldn't tear his eyes away.

"That's not too shabby, I suppose. They've made them that will last fifteen minutes or more, but that's quite a feat. Do you know what this is, Potter?" Harry shook his head as he continued to stare into the hypnotic ball. "This happens to be a _time bomb_. Care to take a guess on what it does?"

"No," Harry said honestly. The way that class went, nothing would surprise him. Walken jerked his head back as though Harry was trying to pinch his nose.

"You aren't the least bit curious?" The Professor sounded hurt, so Harry though it would be a good idea for him to clarify.

"Oh, I'm very curious, but I know that guessing won't do me any good; I'll never in a million years guess what it does." Walken arose and lifted a large patch from the wall. Harry managed to tear his eyes away long enough to realize that it was a causality cloak, though unlike the ones they had made, it was composed of fine links of some type of very light metal. A dark blue line jaggedly dissected the cloak. That would be Walken's. Harry looked at it more carefully, as his professor was starting to talk again.

"Minerva..._Professor_ McGonnagal's." He tapped a very dark green line with his wand tip. It never strayed far from his. "Do you think I could just pull that out, and have everything else lie as the chips fall?" Harry thought about it.

"No, I don't suppose you could."

"Why not?" Professor Walken pushed.

"Well, you're not showing it, but her line has to be different for us all. How could you just...pull it out?"

"How indeed," Walken said, smiling. "Here's what Fugit had to say, something with which I have come to agree; you can't cheat causality, because it only describes the universe's cloak, do you get that?" Harry, who was sick of everyone telling him he couldn't change things, nodded impatiently. Walken ignored him, and place the end of his cloak over the tip of his wand. Harry just had time to shoot backwards in his chair as Walken blew the edge of the cloak apart. The beam of light crashed into the ceiling, where it burst the stone and dug a large hole. Harry's heart was on high alert, and Walken was staring at his wand tip and frowning.

"Damned ebony," he said at last. "So touchy! Anyway, look what I've done to my cloak..."

"If you weren't a sot, perhaps you wouldn't have," Harry said crossly.

"I...meant to do that," his professor insisted. "Look at the end." Harry did. It was ragged, rough, and unraveling rapidly.

"You've ruined it," he said. Walken shook his head impatiently.

"It will rebuild, much as yours did. That's not the point."

"So...what is?"

"The point," said Walken, licking his chapped and cracked lips. "The point is this; what if you could do that to time?" Harry stared dumbly. "What if you could take the tapestry that is all existence; you, me, everyone, and unravel it?" Harry had to digest that. "It's going to redo itself, sure. What if I cut one thread off first? Think it will just leave a gap where that one thread goes?"

"No," Harry answered, "and I think you're mad."

"That's good, because that is what Aloicious Fugit means when he talks about cheating causality. He should use a different phrase...you aren't cheating it at all...you're counting on it. I might just be mad."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked in spite of himself. He had resolved himself to the idea that trying to mess with time was futile, and now Walken was telling him otherwise.

"The time bomb is supposed to unravel the tapestry of existence, Harry, and allow causality to remake it as it will. It isn't a time shaper...it's a time un-shaper."

"Then why haven't you used it?" he asked. Walken stared longingly at the flask in his drawer, but resisted the apparent temptation to pick it up.

"Don't think I haven't been tempted," he admitted. "It's not that easy though."

"Why?" Harry asked. Walken sighed.

"Power, Potter. The universe has vast, potentially untapped reserves of power. Everywhere there's motion there's power. Time is motion, you know." Harry nodded as if he did know, while in fact, he thought that his professor may have actually gone mental. "Look, follow me." Harry did as he was told, though he felt rather stupid by now. They walked to the back wall of the classroom, which was an outside wall for the castle.

"Walk to the door, and count off the time," His professor urged. "Don't look at the watch on your wrist...just walk and meter off the steps." Harry did it, though it was only because he was certain that Walken was some sort of genius, and that there was indeed a point.

"Eighteen...nineteen...twenty." He said that last bit with a sense of finality, as if that was what the answer was destined to be from the very beginning.

"Now, the same thing, only outside, in the hallway." When Professor Walken saw Harry roll his eyes, he added, "humor me. You wouldn't be the first lad to think me insane." Well he had that right. Ron thought he was some sort of batty genius, too.

"Thirteen...fourteen...fifteen...sixteen..." He stopped, because he was now at the door. He must have taken bigger steps on the outside.

"Congratulations; you're a time traveler," Walken said somewhat acerbically. "Doesn't feel so epic, does it? When you enter my room--actually about one step into my room--you hit the enlargening charm, which confusingly enough shrinks everything in the room, while leaving the room the same size. Time passes relative to you, so when it takes you longer to walk the same distance, time has slowed down, and you've done more work, and spent more energy doing it. When nothing moves at all, time has stopped. It takes quite a lot of energy to do that, true, but not an insurmountable amount of power. How much do you think it takes to _undo_ existence?"

"A lot?" Harry ventured.

"A lot," Walken confirmed. "And it all comes from somewhere...nobody slides. Why, blasting curses, a simple _reducto_, do nothing but release some of the energy--a fraction really--and look at the havoc they cause. When causality has been undone...when the causal cloak of the universe has been unraveled, where do you think that energy comes from?" Harry had no reply, so he could only shrug.

"I have a theory," said Walken, sitting down. He again gazed at the flask. He was having a hard time tearing his eyes away from it.

"I don't mind sir...I mean, I know it's not exactly proper at all, but it's not like you planned on having me here today."

"Thank you, Harry," Walken said, unstopping the flask. The strong smell of alcohol permeated the room. "I find there are a good many things I'd rather forget."

"You were saying?" Harry nudged. This conversation was getting interesting.

"I...don't know. Where was I?"

"You have a theory; about the time bomb."

"Fugit never got so far as to detail the whole process. He theorized if you could make the device, it could undo time to the point at which you finished it. He never considers the costs though...he only focuses on what you can do. Or undo as the case may be," he added.

"Why doesn't everyone have one then, just to take back a mistake or hasty word? There's loads of things I'd take back if I could."

Walken pounded on the desk and pointed at Harry, as if that was an excellent observation. Harry was positive his professor was now truly sloshed. "And it's a nice thought...isn't it? Undo that stupid mistake; take back that hasty word...who wouldn't want to be able to do that, really?" Harry nodded, as if he hadn't just asked the same thing himself. "I'll tell you why. For one, it took me almost twenty years to make this one," he pointed at the softly gleaming ball. "Sure, I could make it faster now that I've done all the work, but still. It's still no mean feat to your average wizard." Harry nodded. That was a particularly unsatisfying answer, and even on the miniature version of himself, forever trapped in the globe, the look of discontent was evident.

"More important though; when I was creating this…certain things...occurred to me to make me believe that not all threads are destined to re-align themselves on the cosmic braid," his professor added.

Harry suddenly wished he had Parvati here, so she could decipher some of what Walken was talking about. He had the feeling she'd understand terms like _the cosmic braid_, or at least find them amusing. "What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"I mean very simply this: Unbound though they may be, the chains will number one less than they started with." It took a bit for that to sink in. Walken took another deep swig, and his eyes watered a bit.

"You mean it will kill you?" Harry finally asked.

His professor nodded. "I think so," he added, un-necessarily.

"But how? Why?" This just didn't make sense to Harry.

Professor Walken shrugged. "Maybe the universe has a sense of justice...or humor. Maybe it's to keep us from meddling with time. Maybe it's just the scales leveling out. Who really knows, Harry?"

"But that means the whole world is subject to your whims!"

"I suppose it does."

"So you could undo it all and take away the past...however long!" Something about that seemed very unfair to Harry.

"Only the once!" It was obvious that Walken was trying to be funny, and Harry didn't laugh. "Look...you wouldn't even know it happened...you'd just wake up tomorrow, and it would be last month, last week, last year...you wouldn't be re-living anything...you'd just be living it. There'd be no 're-doing' for you."

"It would kill you!"

"To be honest, I'm about ready. Minerva…Professor McGonagall is one of the last people I have left. I'm about ready," he repeated. Harry didn't believe what he was hearing. "As near as I can tell, it can't reset time to any point you desire...it resets it to the exact moment at which you cast the final incantation on the bomb. Anyway, there is no proof that I'm right, and in any event, I only just finished it just as your last year ended. You wouldn't be making up much."

Harry didn't know what to say. He certainly wouldn't have made a time bomb, even if he could have. What use could it be? To undo everything, and then kill him to boot? He didn't see the need for that. Professor Walken was peering at an intricately carved chess set on a pillar behind him. "Fancy a game?" He asked. Harry just stared. This was unlike any other detention he'd ever gotten.

"A game...while serving a detention?"

Professor Walken smiled. "Unless you're a sharp I don't think you have a chance at besting me, I'm afraid. I merely want to help you understand causal chains a bit better." He rose to his feet, and dragged the heavy chair on which he had been sitting to the board. The miniature pieces regarded him casually. Harry sighed and dragged his chair over as well.

Several hours later he was starting to understand what Walken was doing. As predicted, he hadn't won a game, and in fact, it dawned on Harry that Walken was arranging the moves Harry would have to make. In a fit of giggles over the queen's assault on Harry's bishop, which involved a slap to the face and boot to the pants, Walken let slip that Harry would really love what happened in three moves. Three moves later, Walken's king rose from his throne, picked it up, and bashed Harry's knight over the head with it. Then the diminutive figure kicked the fallen body and shook his fist at it. Harry was too irate to talk much, so instead he took the punishment wordlessly, let Walken continued to drink and laugh, and walked back to his dorm under his invisibility cloak when it was all over. On the plus side, it did help explain things. On the minus, it reminded him how bad he was at thinking in advance when compared to someone truly brilliant. A noise in the hallway made him stop and peer into a darkened classroom. It wasn't that he was afraid of Malfoy, it was just that he knew Malfoy wasn't above hiding in a shadowy corner and letting loose the moment he spied Harry.

***

"Fred and George have arranged to meet us," Ron said, startling Harry out of his thoughts. He was absent-mindedly rubbing the Time in a Bottle, staring at the miniature figures without really seeing them.

"For...you-know-what?"

"That's right," Ron replied. "I can't find that letter anywhere, so we pretty much have to meet them. We've got to find out what they've done, before Hermione kills me."

"What if whatever they've done is...something rash?" Harry asked, feeling tinges of regret for the first time. He and Malfoy lost no love between them, but there were some things Harry wouldn't do...he couldn't see murdering Malfoy, and while he didn't think the twins would stoop to that, he had to wonder.

***

Friday, Harry hurried directly from Kingsley's office to the common room. They were going to sneak to The Three Broomsticks unit Ron realized (after a good long ride on Harry's Motorbike) that they could just ride it down to Hogsmeade, since everyone had to be used to the sight of it now. Harry was now a good deal more comfortable at riding it, and in fact, was better than Connor. Connor claimed that it was because he had never learned on a regular bike, with the shifters and brakes reversed, but Harry preferred to think he was a natural. It was a lot like flying the old Cleansweep that Natalie had let him borrow, when you got down to it.

When they reached the alleyway behind The Three Broomsticks a hooded figure stepped from beneath the stairs, which line the back of the building. There was a tense moment until the cloak's hood was lowered and the shocking red hair of Fred (or George) Weasley was exposed to the early almost-spring air.

"Got a new sweet-heart, Ronniekens?"

"Sod off!" Ron replied. He'd been going for his wand with one hand, but the other was still wrapped tightly around Harry.

Fred (or George) eyed the bike appreciatively. "You do know how to travel in style, Harry, my boy." He pulled a pair of decrepit-looking robes from inside his own cloak. "Put them on, ladies. We don't need your adoring fans to pay more attention then they should."

Ron and Harry slipped the threadbare robes over their own, and Harry found to his amazement that his robe made him appear to have a large gut. Ron's was even more amusing, as he now resemble a pudgy woman. Fred (George?) was smirking as he raised his own hood. As it did, his hair changed to an ashen grey and the stubble on his cheeks appeared to be a full beard.

"Well, _that's_ downright handy," Ron mused, staring at his own chest.

"Only works on the punters though," his brother replied. "Any one with some ambition can see through these in a flash. Though I doubt we're likely to run into anyone with real ambition. George and I sat in there for a good half-hour and never got a second look." So it was Fred! Harry felt proud that he had guessed the proper twin. They had followed Fred as he talked, and had nonchalantly ambled into the tavern. An ugly old lady sat at one of the high tables, apparently looking for them.

Fred nodded and they sat down. "Hi G-" Ron got, before he was cut off by a sharp kick under the table. "_Grandma,_" He finished, almost smoothly.

"What will you fine witches and wizards have to drink?" Madam Rosemerta said from behind them.

Fred ordered for all of them at once. "A round of firewhisky, top-shelf." Then he added, "on me." He leaned into them.

"We shouldn't really be drinking that," Ron said, from the side of his mouth.

"Pour it into ours," George replied, just a discretely.

"So," Fred began. "What can you do for us?"

"We want to know about..." Ron paused

"About white rats," Harry finished.

"Why didn't you read the letter? That explained it all," replied George. Ron was shaking his head. Madam Rosemerta returned with their firewhisky, and Fred surreptitiously poured a bit out of Ron and Harry's glasses, and into his and George's.

"What, specifically, would you like to know?" Fred asked. "Revenge is a time-consuming and tedious process."

"Did-" Harry paused and then lowered his voice. "Are we correct in assuming you know all about white rats?"

"Well..." George drawled. "I don't know about white. I mean the color...that's kind of an individual thing."

"Right." Fred agreed. "It just so happens that we have in our possession a certain..._manual_...dealing with the complexities of rat transformations. As much as we'd like to take credit for the color, I'm afraid our humility must intercede."

"A book?" said Harry, trying to figure it out in his head. "And where did you get a book like that?"

Fred and George glanced at each other. "Your house," they both said simultaneously.

Harry was temporarily stunned. "My house?"

"Your house," George responded again, levelly. "But not to worry...The chaps who wrote it up..."

"Let's say..." Fred added.

"We trust them." George said finally.

"You know who wrote it?" Harry asked slowly.

"Of course!" Fred almost shouted, before George put a hand on his arm. "Masters Padfoot, Prongs, Wormtail and Moony never steered us wrong!"

"Literally!" George added.

"I mean," Fred continued. "If there had been a time or two we ended up in a girls' lavatory or someone's parlor, then I'd worry a little more."

"Certainly. It's what we would have done," George said. Harry's head was getting tired from swiveling to watch the twins talk.

"Indeed," Fred agreed. "But the fact is they're pretty reliable."

"In a shady sort of hidden-by-fate-and-time sort of way. I'd even trust them with Fred's children." George snickered, downed some firewhiskey, and winced a little.

"When will it wear off?" Ron asked, hesitantly.

The twins shared another brief glance. "Never," they both pronounced.

"The transformation is completely..."

"Totally..."

"Utterly..."

"Irrevocably..."

"Oh, good one, George. I do like the sound of that..._irrevocably..._"

"Irrevocably..."

"...Permanent," they both finished. Ron was torn between grinning and looking anxious, and Harry was pretty sure that was how he looked as well. So if he had this right, the twins had taken the book created by his father, Sirius, Lupin and Pettigrew, and turned _Malfoy_ into a rat with it. Something was a bit poetic about that situation.

"Wait a minute," Ron said. "No way...you're telling me even if he gets rid-"

"Ah!" Fred exclaimed, waggling his fingers.

"Do you mind? Some people might not know yet." George finished. He and Fred glanced around.

"You see," Fred started. "As it turns out, baby brother, the hard thing isn't getting him to be a rat…"

"He's naturally a rat," George offered.

"Yes," Fred replied, draining his glass. "The hard part is getting him be _not a rat _again. Took a good bit of work to iron that one out; I don't mind telling you. But, yes; until he gets rid of that coin, which we'd bet he'll never do..."

"Well, I really don't care if he's permanently a rat," Harry announce quietly.

"We couldn't have that on your conscience so you'll have to settle for 'occasionally a rat'," George said, draining his glass. Ron smirked at that. Harry was only slightly torn. One part of him felt just the tiniest bit sorry for Malfoy, but he knew it was the part that would feel sorry for anyone.

The three looked up as some more people came into the pub, and Fred glanced around. "The key to successful mischief-making is knowing when to say 'when'," he announced at last. "This is 'when' for the firewhiskey, 'when' for the disguises; any longer and someone will notice, and 'when' for you two."

"That's right," George added. "Any longer and you risk getting pinched." Fred stood and helped George to his feet, which Harry reckoned was more for the costume effect that anything...after all, George _was_ the old lady. The twins escorted them to the back of the pub. George made a show of hobbling impressively.

"Harry," Fred started. "While your choice of transportation is something we would normally consider downright cool..."

"You could have picked something a little more subtle. Now, normally I'm a big fan of flashy..."

"_Go big or go home!_" Fred added.

George nodded in agreement. "However; next time, do try to be more inconspicuous. That's just begging to get caught right there."


	25. Chapter 25 The Inadvertent Trap

Ohhh no excuses here. I just edited my other novel, so I left this alone to simmer for a while. I didn't beta it because it's too late as it is. Heres to anyone still reading.

Pat

**Chapter 25 - The Inadvertent Trap**

Connor had just finished piecing together Sirius's second motorcycle and was just firing it up as they returned. It was mostly black and rust colored, and sounded less healthy than Harry's, but it did ride. Natalie was sitting next to the bike, looking at a hand-written book and touching the bike in very random points. She was muttering though, and Harry got the feeling that the points were anything but random.

"S'up?" Ron asked casually, trying to dismount without doing something foolish. Natalie waved a slender finger at him, as if to shush him.

"This bike had no flying gear. She's giving it a go," Connor whispered.

"Can she do that?" Ron gazed at her touching various parts of the bike.

"She's been doing flying charms for years. Ask Harry if she's any good at it."

"She knows what she's doing," Harry agreed, watching her intently. It was interesting to see her work...it was one thing to talk about racing brooms incessantly; many people Harry knew did that. It was another to see someone who knew something about it. "I bet Sirius could have used a Natalie."

"Sirius?" Natalie asked without looking up.

"That's who made my bike," Harry responded, fighting back a wave of sudden emotion.

"Ah," Natalie replied distractedly. "Well, I'm afraid he did it very differently from me. All I know are spells that would in essence make it a funny-shaped broom-stick. Since no broom seems willing to let him within five feet, I'm going to assume that wont work for us, and we may have to find out how he did it." She jerked her thumb in Connor's direction.

"Can't you just ask Hermione to help figure it out?" Ron mused.

"Perhaps _you _can," Natalie replied. "You weren't there when we were trying to talk her into fixing Harry's Firebolt though." Natalie shuddered slightly. "I'm sure we can figure something out without her having to help."

Since it was a nice enough day, Harry rode his motorbike for another half-hour with various people. Maybe that would help throw the suspicion off his and Ron's earlier trip to Hogsmeade. Connor of course had a go, and Dean, and even Natalie, who admitted that it was nothing like riding a broom. She stepped off lightly after they had touched down and kicked the back tire lightly.

"There is no way that's a regular flying charm. There's at least a few different steps in there...levitation and something that gives that tire grip."

"It's not just spinning free, so it must have something," Connor agreed. Harry had never seen this part of Natalie and Connor, and it was interesting how quickly they had bonded. Even Dean was standing next to them, throwing out ideas. Hermione still abjectly refused to go anywhere near the bike, but Parvati and Lavender both went on a quick spin around the grounds with Harry.

"I like it," Lavender said breathlessly. "Only you can't hear anything. It's hard to talk!"

Parvati nodded. "It's not so bad until you take to the air," she added. To them, Harry thought, anything that made it difficult to talk was downright criminal. To Harry, it wasn't such a bad idea.

***

Harry was tossing and turning in his sleep. He hadn't had a dream like this for a while; not since he started his Occlumency. Rather than the idle dreams of most teenagers, Harry's were more like a reflection, a review of what he had done over the last several days. This wasn't the first time this had happened--he'd had this dream every few nights for some time now--but he was trying to figure out why he was having it, even as he was sleeping. Something told him he was dreaming, but he knew that this is exactly what had happened during the day, and he was aware, even in the dream, of wondering if it was like his mother's pendant. Perhaps his mind was trying to tell him something...if he could just figure out what it was!

In his head, he was going over the time he had spent with Walken during their detention. Next was the scene where Walken had very nearly taken Harry's head off with the blasting curse, and then the time bomb. As he gazed into the crystal orb, watching himself, something in him stirred, as if that was closer to the point then anything he had seen so far. What was so critical about the time bomb? It wasn't his, and he'd never use it! It couldn't be that important, could it? He'd have been more worried about Voldemort if his scar had reacted in any way to the dreams, but he didn't even get a tingle.

Tuesday morning during potions, Neville surprised everyone by announcing quietly that he had finished his potion. He had made several flasks, and they all contained what appeared to be mere smoke. The potion had to cure now, but the fact that he had conquered his abject terror at the hands of Professor Snape was soothing to everyone, even if Harry was a little on edge keeping ahead of Malfoy. His own potion was less impressive, and it looked like ordinary, very dark wine.

The next day Harry was sneaking to the kitchens for a bite to eat. He was careful to wear the cloak almost all the time in the hallways, but he didn't normally carry it with him to his D.A. meetings. Just after he turned to a lesser-used passage (which he'd been sticking to quite a bit lately) a blinding flash of light and loud _pop_ stunned him momentarily. His wand was already in his hand, and he was very handy with a shield charm.

Before he knew it, someone was standing next to him. He almost stunned Parvati before he recognized her.

"Patil," Malfoy croaked. "This doesn't concern you. I don't want _anything unfortunate_ to happen to you."

Parvati responded by casting a cosmetic charm on Draco's cloak...one that made it glow softly in the black hallway. Draco didn't seem to realize what she'd hit him with, because he was standing quite still, wand-hand extended.

"I'm warning you," Malfoy whispered menacingly.

"Expelliarmus!" Harry shouted. Draco seemed shocked that they could see him, but moved to counter the curse.

"_Nendyate!_" Parvati shouted. Draco yelled and pointed his wand, but nothing happened. He couldn't have been silenced....he was still cursing at Harry and Parvati. Parvati leveled her wand.

"What have you done to me?" Draco demanded.

"I've encouraged you to leave," she replied. "And for the moment I'm giving you the opportunity. I suggest you take it."

Draco glanced at Harry, who was holding his wand out in front of him. Harry was making no move whatsoever. In fact, it would suit Harry right down to his toes if Malfoy would just leave. Harry was having a hard enough time trying to convince himself that he shouldn't break up with Parvati, for the greater good. Malfoy slunk around the corner, keeping his wand trained on them until the very last moment. When he disappeared around the corner, Harry didn't even bother looking. He knew Malfoy would be gone, and he was glad...whatever that little rodent might think, Harry didn't want to fight anyone, and he'd be just as happy being left alone. He turned to Parvati.

"I'm sorry, Harry, I'm sure you could have handled that-"

"Sorry?" he cut her off, then hugged her. He was trying very hard not to snog her senseless right now. "That was brilliant! What did you do?"

Parvati grinned a tiny bit, her blush even evident in the dark hallway. "It's like a silencing spell, only all it keeps them from saying are things against you. It's really handy if someone is spreading gossip...it's the first time I've ever thought to use it like that." Harry looked at her for a long time...Parvati was definitely a match for Malfoy, on the surface, at least. He was just going to have to see if she was just warming up.

The next day in potions, Draco Malfoy didn't even let on that he had been on the wrong end of Parvati's wand. He was too busy gloating over the completion of his Polyjuice Potion.

"I've been able to make it since third year, really. I was just never allowed to do it before. It would have been against the ministry's silly rules."

"And did you make some in your third year?" Snape rasped softly.

Hermione leaned in on Harry's side, "if he's not careful, he'll get blamed for nicking the stuff we did for the potions!" Harry thought she sounded amused...he was amused.

"No, Professor! I mean, it would have been against rules. You know how much of a stickler I am for the rules!"

"Indeed," Snape replied acerbically. "That is all for the day. Ten points to Slytherin for paying such meticulous attention to my instructions." They filed out of class for the week, happy as always to be rid of Snape for another four days.

Neville was grumbling under his breath. "Stupid git never gives _us _points, even though I know he's more interested in mine than anyone else's." Neville kicked the wall softly.

"You know how he is," Hermione said reassuringly. She was glancing around at the others, looking for agreements. "Besides, did you see how Snape looked at Malfoy when he remembered all the ingredients we nicked during the third year? It was...gratifying," she finished at last. Harry smiled to himself as well. He and Ron and Hermione had actually created that potion, and to see something that even remotely resembled Malfoy taking the blame was amusing to say the least.

Harry managed to make it through Muggle Studies without anything more that a reprimand from the professor, even though Parvati had nearly broken his ribs when she held on to his hands so tightly he smacked himself when she finally let go. His meetings with Kingsley were getting shorter and more infrequent, as there was less that the Auror could have them do that they hadn't practiced already. Kingsley was happy that the Defense class was moving along so well, and that was partially due to Harry. In fact, much of what he did now was a watered-down version of the classes for the next week, so very few students who were involved in D.A. at any level found that they were at least getting a head start on work they'd have to do anyway.

The part of class that he cut from the D.A. was mostly headwork anyway. They were less into classes involving explicit curses and counter-curses now, and more into focusing on actions that could constitute a dark art. That made it a much more interesting class, and Harry had his deck of enchanted cards sitting near the top of his bag, because they seemed to enjoy hearing it as well. They couldn't give him much in the way of creative advice, and Harry was left wondering if that was the twins' concession to the 'neutrality' that had to be practiced officially. Even evil children bought sweets, and there was no way they'd sit there and listen to a card preaching about being a morally upstanding wizard without boycotting the twins, or just firebombing their shop.

That Saturday, Harry and Parvati again found themselves running from Filch. The aged caretaker was aggravatingly adept at sneaking up on them at the most inopportune of times, and Harry was trying to lick the glossy crimson lipstick off his lips as they ran down the corridor and in Natalie and Connor.

"Filch?" Connor asked. Harry nodded. "How can he be that good? He was just chasing _us_. Is there something about that man I don't know?" Harry was going to shrug, but at that moment, Ron and Hermione tore around a corner and almost knocked them all over.

"_Spatium Sinus!_" the three of them shouted at once. With a clang, a hole in the fabric of existence sprung up.

"Uhhh..." Ron started.

"What did you do?" Natalie demanded hotly.

"Spatium Sinus," Hermione sprung into lecture mode. "It's a spell we learned this year. You see-"

"I think they are more interested in the practical side," Harry began. He and Ron looked at each other.

"It's a pocket in nowhere," Ron said simply. Harry didn't have anything constructive to add, so he kept his mouth shut. Parvati had seen it before, so it was less amazing to her, though this bubble was impressively large.

Harry slumped to the ground. "You may as well get comfortable," he said.

"We could be here a while," Hermione finished.

"Isn't this…" she trailed off, rather than admit to Hermione that she had seen it before.

Harry looked over at Parvati, who had slumped against the wall of the bubble next to him. "This lasts a lot longer if you have someone to help you cast it. With all three of us..." he shrugged.

"Is there no way out?" Natalie asked, sounding slightly nervous. "I have a little claustrophobia," she added tentatively when Connor looked down at her.

"There's a way in if you can _step_," Ron answered. "We haven't learned that yet. I'd reckon we won't be in here more than an hour or so."

"An _hour_?" Natalie replied; panic coloring her voice. She moaned softly.

"If that!" Hermione added reassuringly. "Probably more like a half-hour."

"Whatever will we do for a half-hour?" Connor mused, waggling his eyebrows.

"We'll figure how _how_ Filch tried to pinch us!" Hermione announced, trying to look stern. So far no one had mentioned how she and Ron had almost gotten nabbed like the rest of them...and they were even Prefects. It was, in Harry estimation, a nice bit of creative conversing. He could feel Parvati leaning against him…it was an awfully big bubble, so she must not be too upset with him. She had plenty of room to go off on her own, if she wanted to. The others slid down the walls slowly, following Parvati and Harry's example. Natalie looked as if she was going to be sick.

"Poor dear," Parvati whispered. Natalie was grabbing Connor's fingers so tightly that Harry could see the band of flesh around her small fist was white. Connor was wincing, which was saying something; considering the way he and Natalie treated each other, or rather, the way Natalie abused him and he seemed to like it.

"No, no, no…" Natalie was mumbling.

"Nattie, this is a big space…does it bother you that much?" Parvati asked.

"Yes! If the wall was see-through it might not be so bad!"

The walls in this bubble were a swirly greenish blue, and shimmering slightly. Harry remembered the first bubble he had created with Nott. "You don't want that," he remarked, remembering how the partially translucent wall had made him feel ill.

"Maybe this will help," Parvati said, activating the Skyball. Immediately, it was as if they were floating through the cloudless inky sky on a calm summer day. Natalie gazed with wonder. "Thank Harry," Parvati said, patting Harry's head. The transformation in Natalie was amazing. She had stopped murmuring and gotten some color back after only a few minutes. A while later she appeared to be breathing a little more normally as well. She still had a death grip on Connor's hand, but she leaned back against him, staring at the multitude of dots and sprays, eyelids drooping tiredly. Really, Harry thought the smartest thing she could do right now was fall asleep, but he wasn't going to say anything. Harry could see her looking up at an area with Mars...or at leas he assumed it was Mars. It was red anyway. Even Ron, who was quite capable of entertaining himself, looked a bit taken in. Hermione was pointing and whispering in his ear, and for a while, it was very quiet in the bubble. The Skyball gave them all a nice blanket of darkness, but frankly, Harry didn't have the guts to snog when there were so many people around. It didn't help that he was attracted to two of them.

He did notice after a while that Natalie was asleep on Connor's lap, and that Parvati was so securely lodged against him that she might have been asleep as well. Ron and Hermione were huddled up, and time was creeping by. Harry wouldn't have imagined a situation like this in a thousand years, but he wouldn't have traded it for anything either. In his estimation, sitting here with Parvati and his two best friends made the night almost a completely perfect experience. He could take or leave Connor, but Natalie was okay.

He was just starting to nod off himself when there was a resonating _thrum_ and he suddenly found himself lying on the carpeted stone floor of the hallway. Looking around, Hermione and Ron were dazedly glancing around and Parvati had sat up suddenly. Only Natalie seemed unaffected, as she was deep asleep in Connor's arms. His bulk next to her lack of any bulk whatsoever made her look like a toy. Usually, a temporalist would have some warning that his or her bubble was about to collapse--Harry had gotten pretty good at noticing the barely-perceptible flickering that signaled the impending demise of the Spatium Sinus--but in this case, the SkyBall had masked the iridescent wall from view.

"We'd better get back to the common room," Hermione announced quietly. Harry looked at his watch. They had been in the bubble for over an hour...Professor Walken would have been proud, if they wouldn't have been using magic he taught them to flaunt breaking the rules.

"We should be okay. As long as..." Hermione never got to finish, as they turned the corner and literally ran into Professor Shaklebolt. "Professor!" she squeaked.

Kingsly looked them up and down appraisingly. Connor was still carrying Natalie, who had her arms wrapped around his neck loosely and her face buried in the crook of his neck and shoulder. Harry licked his lips; acutely aware of the crimson lipstick that Parvati had gotten all over him. Hermione's hair was even worse than usual, owing to the fact that she had just spent an hour leaning against Ron. It could not have looked good.

"Miss Granger," Kingsley replied, cautiously, and with a slight nod.

"I was just escorting some students from the Astronomy tower..."

"Oh, really?" he asked, except it wasn't a question.

"Yes, I mean to and from the tower...they were doing work," Hermione added, nervously.

"It's one of the first nice nights we've had...cloudless, but warmer," Parvati added smoothly. "We have a great view of-"

Shaklebolt threw up his hands. "If you say so. What's wrong with her?" He Nodded at Natalie, still managing to look each one of them sternly in the eye.

"Not feeling good, sir," Connor managed, through a mouthful of her silky hair. Shacklebolt didn't like Connor very well, a fact Harry was aware of because of a conversation they had earlier, regarding whether he was always so quick with a wand. Kingsley had suspected the quiet American of cheating until Harry had managed to convince the professor that yes, Connor _was_ that fast with a wand. Harry had lied and said he knew because of D.A., though. In reality he knew the American was that fast with a wand because he had seen Connor and Malfoy duel from under the invisibility cloak.

"You know, if I was her father, I'd be very tempted to do something rash to you, Mister Colier."

"I know sir. I'm glad you're not him."

Kingsley looked as if he was trying to decide how to take that last statement. "Do you need an escort to the infirmary?"

"Naw," Ron said. "She's just a little light-headed...sick to her stomach, that sort of thing. Way I figure it is that if she's gonna 'ralph, better on him than me. Hermione and I are both prefects."

"It may be just a bad reaction to the Flu potion. I had a bad one myself," Hermione added, helpfully. "You can ask Professor Snape if you need to."

Kingsley actually flashed a brief smile at that. "I'll take your word for it, Miss Granger. I will take the liberty of escorting you to your common room, however." There wasn't much they could say to that, so they walked to the Gryffindor common room, Kingsley leading the way. With one flight of stairs to go, a cold voice stopped them all, and Harry spun around, hand at his wand. Snape looked as if it was amusing that Harry had almost pulled a wand. He had an aggravating smirk on his face.

"_Professor,_" Snape oozed. "Is there a problem here? I notice these students are out of bounds. Those are grounds for..."

"I have it, Snape," Kingsley replied, emotionlessly.

"That American is being ridiculously _improper_ with a student, at least..."

"She's ill," the Auror-turned-professor cut off Snape pointedly. "Perhaps she has the same thing Miss Granger had the other day. I understand you sent her to the infirmary."

"I sent her to the hospital wing because she _complained _of being ill. She could have been....exaggerating." Snape remarked coldly. Even Snape knew when it was a bad time to accuse Hermione of lying directly. Instead he stared at Natalie. "The hospital wing is the _other way_," he said finally.

"'We don't have time for this, Professor Snape. These children need to get to bed. If you'll excuse us," Kingsley passed by Snape with an air of authority and Harry was smart enough to follow him. Snape watched them pass, then turned around with a flourish of his robes, and faded into the inky blackness.

"I'm not sure I like that man," Kingsley said quietly as they were just out of earshot of the Fat Lady.

"Well, I'm sure," Ron announced proudly. "I'm certain he's a tremendous..."

"You should probably stop there," Professor Shackelbolt cut Ron off. "You're a prefect, and you should act like it, at least until I'm gone." Kingsley glanced at the fat lady, who was inspecting them all with beady eyes. "I was escorting these students; they had work to do. The young one is a little under the weather."

The fat lady nodded understandingly as the portrait swung open. They filed through, and though Connor got a long look from Kingsley, he was allowed to pass, still carrying Natalie, who had slept through the whole ordeal. As soon as they were in, Hermione moved to escort Natalie up the stairs, but only after Connor had set them off which woke up half the tower. He was on the receiving end of more than one aggravated sneer.

After things had calmed down, Harry found his way to the lounge in the common room more out of habit than by design. Parvati was still next to him, which was good, because it meant that she hadn't gotten sick of him yet. Harry was awkwardly been trying to decide what to do with his hand as they leaned together for another kiss, we he happened upon something round and _bottle-like_. As he fished the small vial up, he saw the miniature Harry and Parvati flop onto the couch. The cards were taking up his breast pocket, or he'd put the bottle in there! At least he'd always managed to retrieve it before Hermione found it.

Monday, during Muggle Studies, Parvati had to leave in the middle of class. Hermione may have been right, when it came to adverse reactions to the flu inoculation. After class she cam sprinting up to Harry.

"You've changed your robes!" he said, falling in beside her. She was taking a way back to the common room that passed through several empty corridors and by some disused classrooms. One of them was, in fact, where he had watched the memory of his mother's...the one that Hermione had noticed and separated. He hoped she wasn't planning on getting frisky, as he really didn't want to catch what she had. She'd looked violently ill before she'd left class. On the plus side, she was keeping well away from him, so he had to assume she was worried about him catching whatever she had.

"I was sick on the others," Parvati shrugged. She wasn't wearing as much jewelry either, probably because she didn't want to get vomit on it. She did have a new ring that Harry had never seen before. It was some kind of white metal, and looked out of place on Parvati's dark hand. Harry was no expert on fashion though...for all he knew, that white metal was the next in thing. They walked in silence for a while, until Parvati pulled a small bottle from her pocket.

Harry looked over. "Getting some fluids in? Madame Pomfrey would be proud."

"Pumpkin juice," Parvati said. "I just can't get enough...I feel like I'm burning up!"

Harry smiled as he tried to work his wand out of his pocket without being noticed. Parvati was faster though, and she had her wand out and leveled before Harry could get his hands free.

"Who are you?" Harry asked, as the pause at in intersection that was dim, even during the day. Parvati said nothing. "Who are you?" Harry demanded again.

"Why, whatever do you mean?" Parvati said eyeing him with a stern look on her face.

"You're obviously not Parvati," Harry's eyes flicked to the wand.

"Maybe I just realized what you really deserve," said Parvati, as she made a jabbing motion at him.

"Come on," Malfoy said, from the shadows of a dust-filled classroom in front of him. "Have some pride, Parkinson. These Gryffindor scum have to see that they aren't the only ones who know what sticking together is."

"Pansy," Harry said, glowering at her.

"Oh I didn't want to use the potion myself, though maybe I should have, just to see what was...under wraps."

"Shut your mouth, you maggot!" Harry hissed.

"Maybe you'll still get to see," Pansy purred. Seeing Parvati hit on Malfoy made him feel like throwing up. He was not going to take this lying down...his mind feverishly worked over the aurors' texts he'd read. Draco was probably the more dangerous of the two but Pansy was in between them, and Harry was willing to bet Draco wouldn't risk hurting her. He could probably disarm her and by the time she got out of the way he'd be ready to deal with Draco. His eyes flickered to Malfoy, and Pansy started to move.

"Expelliarmus!" he shouted, and Pansy's half-drawn wand flew from her fingertips and clattered on the stones of the floor.

"Reducto!" Malfoy shouted, and a searing pain spread through Harry's chest. He got his wand up in time to block the second curse, and Malfoy fell to the ground, twitching.

"What did you do?" Pansy screamed, as she knelt over Draco's convulsing form. Harry briefly wondered that himself. Had the cure rebounded on Draco? Then with a sucking sound, Malfoy vanished, and in his place was a large, white rat. It turned and attempted to bury itself under Pansy, who was squealing. Harry had to laugh in spite of himself.

"Oh you think it's funny, do you?" Pansy started, reaching for Draco's wand. Harry banished it before she could touch it, and it rattled noisily down the hallway. "I'll have you-"

"You'll have me what?" Harry said loudly. "_You're _the one polyjuiced up like an innocent girl; one you probably poisoned. D'you think you can just go and _tell on me?_ Well good luck!" Harry spat on the ground and looked down at his chest. The curse had nearly blown the cards to pieces, but had missed by the smallest of margins to blow the top off his genuine Collibri flask; the one Arthur Weasley had given him for his birthday and that he had been using to keep his potion safe. At least three quarters of the potion was still in there...if he hurried to re-bottle it, it might even be usable. The dark red potion stained his shirt as though he'd been shot through the heart, which he very nearly had been. Harry was thinking quickly now.

"And tell your boyfriend that it will take more than a blasting curse to the chest." He spit on the ground again, let Pansy get a good look at the blood-like splotch of potion, and hurled her wand after Malfoy's.

"Fetch, or better yet, have your trained rat get it for you." With that, even though his heart was pounding, he calmly walked away.


	26. Chapter 26 What's Not Happening?

This is your next chapter. I am putting it up as jerk tax, for not updating it like I said I would. Now I have to go do rewrites on 27. As always, a review would make me warm and fuzzy.

PM

**Chapter 26 - What's Not Happening?**

Harry walked back to the Gryffindor common room more relaxed than he had been in ages. For one, he knew Malfoy wouldn't be lurking around corners or hiding behind any statues, waiting to get the drop on him. In fact, the Slytherin was very likely still a pigment-impaired vermin, scurrying by busts of barmy wizards as Pansy Parkinson whined and shrieked. Harry took some satisfaction from that thought, and he was having very little problem imagining it.

The cards in his pocket had been silenced by the blast, but were gradually picking up in intensity. Harry took them from his pocket; he had no intention of finding out how a binding potion would affect a wizarding card.

"What was that?" Toothill asked shrewdly.

"Nothing. I had a slight…mishap, is all."

"Mishap my eye, boy. I know a blasting curse when I hear one. Seems to me we're lucky we aren't bits on a wall, somewhere." Harry didn't have an answer to that, but he was in a hurry anyway; he wanted to make sure Parvati was okay. Something scuffling behind him made him whip around, pulling his wand; but there was nothing.

"My goodness," Toothill said. "That wasn't bad for a school lad. You have potential boy!" Harry stuffed the cards rudely into a side pocket--the one with Hermione's Vial, in fact--when he got an idea. He whipped the Time In a Bottle from his slacks, nearly fumbling it to the ground, only to see a miniature Draco turn into a rat. He was too late…if he had remembered the vial and run straight off, he may have been able to convince _someone _that Malfoy was up to no good, once and for all, but not now.

However, there was something...in the very corner of the bottle was a short, fat pedestal upon which rested a reclining Lethargus the Lazy, who had perfected summoning charms mostly because he didn't want to be bothered to get up for anything. Behind Lethargus, there was a shadow across back of the pillar, where someone may have been crouching. Harry stopped walking and squinted at it, but aside from some silly shoes couldn't see more. He meandered slowly towards the hospital wing, watching the bottle closely, but the smudge never re-appeared in his delayed walk through the halls as it replayed silently through the bottle.

"You've just missed her, Potter," Madam Pomfrey declared. "But knowing that she has been hanging around with you doesn't surprise me. I never saw the girl once until she got mixed up with you."

"Tell me about it," Harry muttered. Like he needed to be reminded that he was bad for her health! Harry almost sprinted back to the common room, but when he got there, he saw that Parvati was sound asleep on his favorite chair. That was just as well, since he was certainly okay with her not seeing what had transpired in her absence. She'd never leave him alone ever again.

The first thing he did was to try to bottle the remaining potion. Only time would tell if it had been ruined by the curse. When he was done pouring the concoction from the ruined flask, Harry went to the Lavatory, to get the potion cleaned off his shirt.

"Merlin's nose-hair, what happened to you, Potter?" Seamus was cleaning up and was staring at the stain on Harry's shirt. Harry was feebly dabbling at it with some intentions of being able to use the shirt again.

"Uh, oh! That's potion, mate! Yeah, I had a bit of a mishap, really," Harry said sheepishly.

"_A bit of a mishap?_ I'd say so. You sure you aren't cut?"

"Nah. It's all potion." Harry tapped his shirt to make a point, but also to surreptitiously check for new holes in his body. He _had_ been pretty distracted at the time…he could have been bleeding through half the castle and not noticed it. Nothing on his chest seemed to gush when he poked it.

"Are you sure you're okay, Potter? Me mum says even if a curse scratches you it could get pretty nasty," Seamus paused. "But I guess you know more about that than me."

It took Harry a second to figure out was Seamus was talking about, then he nodded and absently rubbed at his scar. Finnegan simply looked down and shook his head, muttering to himself. Seamus probably took a longer shower than was strictly necessary just to see that when Harry rinsed his chest off, there were no great gashes across his chest. There actually were some small cuts, but they were from where the metal of the burst flask had dug into his skin.

When he was done with his shower, Harry crept back into his room and then paused. He'd been lax lately, but it was actually not beyond Malfoy to slip him a new robe and then destroy his old one, just to force Harry into using the new one. He checked the wards on his bureau, which were still intact. Since they hadn't gone off, he had to assume that the only beings that had gone near his belongings were the house elves, who had been allowed through the wards, or Connor, who somehow didn't trigger them. Still, better safe than sorry. Harry took the extra time to wave his wand over things to trigger the faint blue circles that marked his belongings.

When he returned to the common room, Parvati was sitting curled in a chair, with the heavy black journal on her lap. Her gold flecked hair was in a long braid over one shoulder and she looked very, very pretty. She looked better, but he decided not to wake her up, and instead made do with another chair, a dilapidated, squishy affair a bit back from the fireplace. His chest was a little numb, but that was to be expected…after all it _was _as if someone had slapped him across the chest with a board. It wasn't hard to breathe, like it had been after his trip into the lake. Across the room, Connor was staring at him.

"What?" snapped Harry, irately. The adrenaline was wearing off and he was starting to grow sleepy and sore.

Connor shrugged. "You were just moving little slow. You didn't hurt yourself on the bike, did you?" Hermione's timing couldn't have been worse, and she walked in the portrait hole just in time to shriek.

"I _knew_ you'd hut yourself on that _deathtrap_! I should have put a stop to that when you two _rode to Hogsmeade!_" She pounded on Ron's chest, who was simply standing behind her. Ron began to protest but Harry cut him off.

"I didn't do _anything_ on that motor bike! And would you _shut up_! You're going to wake up Parvati!"

"Did you fall off your motorbike?" whispered a sleepy voice. Parvati's eyes were very big and very shiny, and single strands of her long hair were floating beside the braid.

"No!" Harry burst. Eight eyes stared back at him. "I got my foot caught walking up the stairs, if you _must_ know. There! Now is everyone happy?"

"No need to yell, mate," Ron said shrugging. "We just worried, that's all."

"Well don't!" Harry snapped.

"Lighten up!" Ron threw his hands in the air. Harry found himself standing before he knew it. Before he had wanted nothing more than to sit next to Parvati for a while, but now he didn't want to deal with people…not necessarily Parvati…he could handle her, but Ron and Hermione and Connor could sod off. Harry stomped up the stairs and slipped beneath his covers, still in his cloths.

He must have needed the sleep, because he didn't wake up until his normal time the next morning, at least fourteen hours of uninterrupted sleep later. He didn't have any dreams, or if he had any, he didn't remember them. By the time he arrived at the potions dungeon, he was over the flash of anger that he had felt towards Hermione and Connor even though it was probably best that they didn't try to talk to him. Draco wasn't even in class, which made Harry a little nervous. He had learned that Malfoy was aggravatingly capable of causing trouble, especially if the vermin had been given time to prepare. He may have skipped just to set another trap or find a good spot for an ambush. When class what over, he made his way slowly to the door, letting everyone out-distance him. He was thinking about how nice it would be to ride his motorbike and absently getting ready to whip on the invisibility cloak. As he stepped from the dim classroom into the dimmer hall, he slipped the cloak over his head. He loitered about, now safely hidden from view, thinking about Malfoy the white rat and their dual in the hallway.

"Not so fast," an oily voice murmured. Harry sopped and began to turn, grasping for the cloak with is free hand and excuses with his mind. Before he could speak a shadowy figure detached its own bulk from the penumbra of the hallway. "Colier," Snape uttered coldly.

"I didn't know it was illegal to stand in a hallway," Connor said defiantly.

"It _is_ illegal for you to stand in this hallway. Move." He stared at Connor with bottomless black pools for eyes. Connor didn't speak, and Harry was petrified in place for the moment. "Such arrogance…You wish to attack a student in _my_ hallway?"

"Like it matters what _I_ want to do. There aren't any students here, are there? Anyway, it's not like it's illegal to daydream…or is _it in this hallway_."

Snape continued to stare. Harry had seen that stare each week for the whole year, and he knew that unless Connor was very talented, all the American's secrets were about to go up in smoke. "If you have a problem with Potter, I would suggest you get over it. Potter is insufferable but better wizards than you have tried to harm him and failed. _Much_ better wizards." Snape kept staring for a while and then extended one black-clad arm. Connor didn't have to be told twice. He didn't act afraid, but he did leave with all haste. Harry followed him.

As soon as they rounded the corner, Harry jabbed Conner in the back with his wand. Conner halted so suddenly that Harry bumped into him. He turned surprisingly quickly, as Harry was pulling the cloak from over his head.

"What the…" the American started.

"So what's the deal? You want to hurt a student? _Potter_?" Harry jabbed Connor with his wand.

"What are you talking about?" Connor started to take a step forward but stopped after another jab, and upon noticing that Harry's wand-tip was glowing softly. It was an ominous red, and faint tendrils of black smoke trailed through the air. "Look, I don't know what you heard, but I was waiting for Malfoy. He wasn't here today. It was _Snape_ who was talking about you. I thought you hated him."

"That doesn't mean I don't trust him," Harry said, to his deep chagrin. He held Connor at wand-point for several minutes, until finally Connor spoke.

"Look, either you trust me, or you don't," Connor said at last, holding out his open hands. "Between you and Malfoy, I think it would be obvious which one I want." Finally. Harry lowered his wand. He was confused and a little angry. What right did this outsider have to involve himself in their lives? He'd invited it, but now he just wished Connor would go back to America.

"Well, let's get going then," Harry said. "We have a hard transfiguration today." Something about Connor really felt wrong, but it was something indeterminate…he acted like one of Harry's friends, but Harry wasn't so sure; it felt almost as if the American was just biding his time.

***

Harry wasn't lying; transfiguration was set to be very tough. They were very, very close to full-body transfiguration. During many of their other lessons, McGonagall would have them turning buttons into beetles, pillows into pigs, or some other such things. Full body transfiguration was different. It was much less of a disciplined piece of work and more unlocking one's body so that it could take another form. The body had a natural affinity that the magic was meant to encourage, and the other part of the transfiguration was to maintain the shape once it had been achieved.

Harry had known for weeks that he would be some sort of bird. He had grown a beak, feathers, and even had his eyes turn a brilliant gold. Ron had grown paws, Parvati was obviously some sort of green-eyed cat, and Connor was even more successful at this than anything he'd tried yet. He actually had quite a bit of fur and a definite feline cant to his eyes…another cat of some kind.

"Feeling better?" Ron said, clapping Harry on the back.

"Huh?"

"From your fall…the trick step. Do you feel better?"

"Uh, sure, I guess." In truth, Harry had already forgotten about the argument from the night before, for the most part. He had a good feeling about today, and it was only made better by the fact that Draco Malfoy was skipping this class as well. The mood in the room was always lighter when there was no one to make rude jokes about what people transfigured into.

Hermione was naturally the first to manage anything. She was some kind of furry rodent…larger than an otter or beaver, but honestly Harry was a bit hazy on mammals larger than a collie dog, so he wasn't sure. Speaking of dogs, Ron was well on his way to managing some kind of large dog; perhaps a deerhound or wolfhound. Of course, since the size was about the last thing to get right, he may have been working towards some sort of terrier just as well.

"Excuse me…professor?" McGonagall looked up. The professor was mildly mollified that so many people seemed to be taking well to this particular project. It couldn't have hurt the room was minus one Malfoy. Draco pushed her to her limits.

"Yes, Miss Brown?" she said kindly.

"What's to keep us from turning into a mouse and just…staying that way? I mean, mightn't we forget that we are people?" If she'd have asked Harry that, he could have answered her, as dealing with the Weasley twins and Operation Ferret, as well as his potions assignment had taught him a little something about it.

"We are naturally people," Harry said. "Our bodies _want_ to be people, and give the option, that's always what they will be. The hard part isn't changing _into _a mouse anyhow, it's _staying _a mouse."

Professor McGonagall looked at him with something similar to pride. "Very good Potter! Two points to Gryffindor! The truth is some wizards--especially ones like me, who can turn into something for a long time--actually _will_ go feral. That is one reason the Ministry keeps such tight tabs on animagi. They actually do check in from time to time to ensure that I haven't just vanished with a ball of yarn."

With a _pop_, Harry finally felt his body release as he shifted into a small falcon. Hermione, who was resting after several successful transformations clapped her hands giddily and held out one arm. The room had a pool for those people who looked to be some sort of aquatic animal, like Lavender Brown, who appeared to want to change into a sea-horse, and Harry lazily dragged his talons through the water as he soared over and settled onto Hermione's outstretched arm. It took a bit of shifting around for him to find a position where he didn't feel as though he was ripping the skin off her. The talons were definitely going to take some getting used to. Harry momentarily busied himself with daydreams of becoming an animagus and not having to worry about concentrating on maintaining the form he was in. He couldn't do it for too long because he had to really concentrate on staying a bird. It was exhilarating to fly as an actual bird, and he wanted nothing more than to take to the skies as a falcon, but self transfiguration for non-animagi was notoriously unreliable, and he'd already had one fall too many for his tastes. Hermione was stroking his head, and it felt odd. He wanted to bite her, way back in his head.

"There are tiny rings around your eyes!" Hermione exclaimed, intently scrutinizing Harry's head. His unwavering golden eyes shone as he glanced around. Things looked incredibly odd…while he could focus on individual things, nothing was out of focus…Hermione was clear, and so was Dean Thomas behind her.

Harry could no longer stand it, and he flapped clumsily to the ground just as he shifted back into his familiar old featherless body. Hermione was clapping for him as Ron looked on with pride all over his face, as well as red whiskers. Parvati had a big smile, and she was brushing out her long hair.

Harry realized that she must have changed at about the same time he did, and awkwardly delivered a congratulatory hug, while checking to see what had happened in the bottle in his pocket. It was hard to tell, but Parvati certainly hadn't turned into a cat, which he assumed at first, though Harry couldn't tell what she had been. Something long bodied and standing upright was all he got a glimpse of; the bottle was just too small to see more. The hug got a lot of looks and snickers.

"If it doesn't bother me, don't let it get to you," Parvati whispered.

"It doesn't bother you? Not even a little?" Harry whispered back?

"Not even a little," She answered. That made Harry feel as if she was too good for him, and he hugged her again, a good deal less awkwardly, until McGonagall cleared her throat noisily. Harry and Parvati pulled apart reluctantly.

***

Everyone felt good about the day. Whether it was that things were coming together nicely or that without Malfoy, things were a good deal more relaxed. Connor kept to himself so much that people had largely forgotten about him, even the witches that had originally followed him around had even given him up for a lost cause after seeing how seriously he was involved with Natalie. After he and Dean came to terms, the aggravation of having him around had gone down considerably, and most people viewed him as little more than a nuisance with a funny accent.

Harry, on the other hand, regarded him as something more than a nuisance. He slipped the Marauders' Map into one of Hermione's magical condensing books; one with his class texts, and every chance he got over the next day and a half, he checked it for Connor's dot. It was no surprise that his dot vanished at times, to re-appear moments, minutes, or even hours later. In Temporalism, he asked Professor Walken if something they could learn in that class would hide a person from magical tracking.

"Well, I suppose a _Spatium Sinus_ charm would hide you, so long as it lasts. Actually, that's speculation. You still exist in a definite plot-able spot; so long as it's plotted in at least three dimensions, one being time of course." Walken leaned against his desk, twirling his wand. He absentmindedly toyed with a pot of time sensitive paint, which would be use to test their wand sleeves, when finished, to indicate whether time was passing on the inside of the leather sheath.

"What about the _step_?" Harry asked.

"No," Walken replied with certainty this time. "The _Spatium Tornare _will make them very, very, very momentarily appear to vanish in an indicated spot three dimensionally, but they would appear almost instantaneously at a nearby designated point; three dimensionally. I suppose four-dimensionally really, since the _step_ doesn't amount to a massive leap in time."

Ron, who had been watching this exchange curiously, chimed in. "Almost like a knight on the chessboard, I bet."

Walken tapped the tip of his nose with his wand. "Two points to Gryffindor! Outstanding, Mr. Weasley. I do believe you've a mind for this!" Ron beamed proudly, but not as proudly as Hermione. They were used to asking such random questions at random times in Temporalism, so they simply turned back to wand sleeves, and painting dowels with the time sensitive paint in order to test them. Harry had chosen a dark red leather for his, and though it was a simple leather tube, it _felt_ as though it was something more.

He'd asked Flitwick the same question before charms, earlier that day.

"Tracking, such as wards, Mr. Potter?" If it helped Flitwick to think this was all related to his work with wards, that was all for the better. Anyway, Connor showed that he could avoid the wards as well, so it was in part true.

"Yes," Harry said.

Professor Flitwick hopped onto his tall chair with wonderful agility.

"A ward is a funny thing. The ones you and Mr. Weasley performed, _quite masterfully _I might add, detect magical imbalances. Not only would they determine whether a witch or wizard was lurking about; they would additionally be triggered by an appreciable expenditure of energy. What does that mean to your answer, Mr. Potter?"

"Well," Harry started, and paused to think. "That means if you never cast a spell, and if you were a Muggle, you wouldn't set off wards."

"Almost right," said Flitwick, raising a long and thin finger. "I said _your wards_; and you wouldn't have to be a Muggle, since to truly achieve the sensitivity to track a Muggle with a ward you would have to create something quite...formidable. I imagine a squib would present your particular wards with some problems, though." The difference was negligible to Harry. He'd seen Connor use magic, and the only squib in Hogwarts that he could think of was Filch. Something told him Filch's dislike of him was more of a matter of principle.

After Temporalism, Harry was left with Kinsley's response with which to find something useful. He wanted to ask Dumbledore, but involving the headmaster seemed risky.

Anyway, Parvati was waiting for him in the common room, and he could just get some time with her before he had to run to the Defense against the Dark Arts classroom to meet with Kingsley Shaklebolt. Harry had a feeling that this was the sort of thing the auror might know. He did resolve to scan his auror's texts as well, though they were low on theory.

"So Harry," Lavender said silkily. "Have you decided if...I'm the one yet?"

"What?" He was at a loss. Parvati was rolling her eyes and staring at a small cedar box, which was filled with clay balls. He knew them very well; they were what Hermione had created to test her ability with recreating his mother's pendant. He didn't think that was related to whatever it was Lavender was on about.

"Wait now," said Ron, suddenly paying more attention to Harry and less to the seventh year boys he was bilking at the chessboard. Next to him was a small box of Chocolate Frogs, neatly categorized with small tags identifying the wizard or witch hiding within. Neville was standing with a stupid smile on his face, probably struggling as Harry was to remember what Lavender could be talking about. Lavender looked around the common room, flashing the look that other Gryffindors sometimes reserved for her and Parvati. _Mind your own business, _it said. "The You-Know-What. With Neville."

"I think she means the prophesy," Neville finally said, after several long moments of silence. Harry was a little proud of Neville for actually figuring it out first. With his fellow sixth-year's notoriously spotty memory, that was an encouraging sign.

"You told her about the prophesy?" Hermione asked in the silence, with an incredulous tone. Harry couldn't have asked for a better endorsement. It was only made better by the fact that Hermione was not in on the joke, but she had of course been in the fiasco with the ministry. That took Harry's mind to Sirius, and it was almost as if a door had been suddenly slammed on his happiness. He wanted to lash out in anger and frustration, but even now he knew that he couldn't do that; that it wouldn't be fair to anyone in the common room. With a bit of a jolt, he realized that everyone in the room was staring at him. Parvati's exasperated smile was even starting to slip. He had to act fast.

Harry forced on a grin he didn't feel; one as big as he could imagine. He knew it looked goofy, and that was the point. Across the room, Ron actually resumed grinning and nodded a little. He was now in on the joke. Hermione still looked gob-smacked. "It might be about her, I had to," Harry said, looking back and forth from Hermione to Ron.

"All the same mate, you can't tell her 'till you know it's her. You can't be driving folks batty," Ron remarked. Neville nodded, and rested a hand on Lavender's shoulder.

"That would hurt my feelings," he said, solemnly.

Lavender rose, grabbing Neville by the fingers. "Come on Nev! I hate you, Harry Potter!" Lavender stomped out, making rather a spectacular show of it. After she left Parvati followed her, but she was laughing on the way out. Nearly everyone in the common room was as well, which was nice, because it was just enough to keep Harry from crying now that he was thinking about Sirius.

"I have to go talk to Professor Shacklebolt about next week's D.A. lesson. You guys stay right. And uh, tell Lavender she's still my favorite fifth year named after a color." Natalie MacDonald snickered at that, and only Hermione looked a little lost. It was a sight to relish; Harry figured he would never see it again.

Kingsley was sitting at his overloaded desk, shuffling parchment into the top two drawers. He looked up upon Harry's entry. "Well, hello Mister Potter."

Harry nodded. He was going to ask about ways to cheat magical tracking, but first, he needed a little of something else. "It was you that tracked Sirius, right?"

Professor Shacklebolt rubbed his shiny bald head. "In fact I was the agent in charge," he answered slowly.

"When he first got out-"

"Escaped, Mister Potter."

"Er...yeah. When he first escaped, before you knew he didn't...do what he said he did...you were in charge of finding him?" He was very close to breaking down now.

"I tracked him the entire time, before and after. He was the only man I never captured or brought to justice, and I would have, if I'd have had longer. If we had switched to misinforming the ministry even a week later I'd have had him too." Harry detected the resentment in his voice even though he was struggling desperately to keep a straight face.

"So, it would be fair to say that you knew him very well? I mean you've told me that you have to know someone to do...what you do."

"I have, and you do. I can say with impunity that I knew him as well as anyone."

"As well as Lupin?"

Kingsley very deliberately set down everything he was holding, and leaned forward. He fixed his dark eyes on Harry. "What is this, Harry?"

"I just want to know a little about him. I mean, I know how he hated to sit in that house. I know how he hated his family. I know that he sometimes confused me with my father. I know what other people told me about him and my dad, and Lupin, and Pettigrew."

"He did hate his family, but for him it was hard to separate the people from what they stood for. As for the rest, you have to understand that he spent a decade and a half in Azkaban. I know that Black may not have seemed so to you, but I assure you he was quite damaged. He was not the same man your father knew."

"Can you tell me a little about him?" asked Harry, pleadingly.

"It's not all pretty," Kingsley said. "Are you sure?"

"I don't care if it's all pretty. I know there are...things...you know." Kingsley walked around his desk, and leaned on it while Harry sat before him. For well over an hour, Kingsley told him about his Godfather, about how Sirius had honed his self preservation to an art, about how he was even then somewhat reckless and would often take the gambler's chance. He told about how, in hindsight, it was plain that Sirius was working his way to Harry, but only after he had first been tracked to the area of the Burrow. He learned about the history of the Black family, and why Sirius hated them so much. By the time Kingsley glanced back at his desk, Harry no longer felt like crying, instead exchanging it for a hollow sort of emptiness deep inside. He would never get to learn this sort of thing from Sirius...it would be the unbiased, sterilized, outsider's view of his Godfather's life.

"Well, Harry, tarry any longer and you'll miss your meal. Look, I don't know him in the same way as his friends, but I _did _know him. I don't know what else I can tell you, but if you ask I will answer, if I know it." Harry nodded, and the professor shook his hand and ushered him out. It didn't occur to Harry until half-way through his meal that he had forgotten to ask the Auror about evading magical tracking. Parvati had sat next to Lavender, who was still giving him the evil eye, so he ended up sandwiched by Weasleys. Ron sitting next to him was a given, but Ginny was there because it had been Dean, and she forced him to move over. Thirsty for any attention from her, Dean did it. That left Harry in an awkward spot; since she had already drank out of his goblet at least twice. The last thing he needed was a row with Dean.

Occlumency with Snape in the dungeon came all too soon. When he slumped into the straight-backed wooden chair, which was not comfortable no matter how one shifted, Snape glared balefully at him. There was a bluish ball glowing softly in the back corner. It was about the size of a Muggle football, and it drew his eyes to it. Snape wasted no time in placing a ridiculous-looking contraption on the table.

"Anyone who has had the misfortune to _attempt_ to instruct you will find it painfully obvious that you are incapable of doing two things at once. Today, we are going to remedy that."

Harry nodded. He was considering asking Snape about the magical tracking. He hated Snape, and there was no guarantee that the shadowy git would answer, but according to the memory he had seen when he had inadvertently entered Snape's head last year, the Potions master probably knew as much about the Dark Arts as anyone in Hogwarts. Snape noticed Harry wasn't paying attention and shoved the funny contraption he had been carrying into Harry's hands.

"Remember what I told you, Potter; five points from Gryffindor. You will save your questions until such a time as I might answer them."

Harry looked at the thing in his hands. It looked like a bow, only it had half a dozen strings on it. It was obviously some kind of musical instrument.

"You are going to practice that until you can play in and hold as reasonable conversation as is possible at once." Snape paused. "Though reasonable in your place is relative. I am certain that I could find a more fulfilling conversation with a baboon."

Harry experimentally plucked a string. It didn't sound tinny or simple. It sounded, if anything, like a fully over-driven guitar, minus the volume. "I don't know how to work this," he said, hesitantly.

"Four year old wizards have been known to master this instrument, Potter. I'm sure you can ascertain the essentials."

Harry plucked the same string again, but got a different note. The buzzing hum of the harp, or whatever it was, reminded him of a swarm of surging insects. It was a neat sound, but a little unpleasant in a disconcerning way. Harry looked at Snape, but not before thinking of every irrelevant football score he ever knew. The potions master scowled even more, if that was possible.

"You may ask me your question now, Potter." So much for getting better.

"It's not really about this," he began.

"When is it ever?" Snape asked rhetorically.

Harry had to take a second to think...phrasing this next part could be disastrous. "Did Headmaster Dumbledore tell you that we had placed some wards around my bed?"

"He mentioned it. Continue."

"Is there a way to defeat those with a potion?"

"Let me...get this straight, shall we? You want me, an instructor saddled with the responsibility of keeping your over-developed ego in check, to tell you, a notorious and ignominious rule flaunter, how to avoid a ward? Not. Likely. Potter." Snape had leaned closer with every word.

"It's not that! I mean, I put them there! It's just that, well, I've seen people go through them without setting them off." Harry suddenly got the sinking feeling that he had said something he shouldn't have.

"I see two possibilities here, Potter. Ther first, and most likely, is that you are an incompetent twit. Your wards are failing to trigger because they are faulty wards. The second is that some of your fellow Gryffindors have found a way to traverse wards without triggering them. Let me assure you, that is surely a dark art, Potter." Harry didn't know what to say, so he remained silent.

"Whomever this...miscreant is...whosoever they may be, it would serve them well to remember that hiding from a Legimens will take more that standing around a corner or cowering under an _invisibility cloak_," Snape emphasized that last part unnecessarily. "Even those who wish to remain out of sight cannot hide their thoughts. Even if they could, the mere thought betrays the troublemaker..._even if they were skilled in occlumency a true legimens can hear that their thoughts are there._" Harry knew Snape was emphasizing that last part just for him. He was basically saying Harry could never hide from him. He also knew that there were times that Snape didn't catch him, so that wasn't totally right. Harry also made another connection, one that he dared not entertain until this was all over.

"Drink." Snape pointed at the cup, signifying that the conversation was over. An hour later, Harry walked from the dungeon with a splitting headache and few new ideas on how the American was avoiding both the map, and his wards.

As he walked into the dormitory, Dean looked up from his bed, where he was arguing with Seamus. Neville and Connor were gone, but Ron had followed him up the stairs. "You've got a chansonarc," Ron exclaimed. "Do you play?"

"A what?" Harry said, dazedly.

"A chansonarc," Dean said. "Give." He tucked the chansonarc under his left arm, and immediately broke into a blistering solo which sounded vaguely familiar. Harry wasn't sure, but he was pretty sure when you played a guitar, you had to move your hand to different spots with the left to get different notes, and you strummed it with your right. The way Dean was playing, he was tapping the strings with both hands, and even though he was using his right hand, he wasn't strumming with either. "_Four-year-olds have mastered this_," Snape had remarked. Harry doubted that, especially after a fast slide down the strings. Dean wound up what he was doing and flipped the chansonarc casually and handed it to Harry.

"Nice," Ron said, nodding approvingly.

"You're going to help me with this then, I take it?" Harry asked.

"Why would anyone make you learn that?" Dean asked, instead.

"Don't even ask," Harry said, peering down at the moonlit lawn below.

"Well...I can teach you this Harry, but you have to promise me one thing." Dean rose even taller, and widened his eyes as far as they'd go. He looked a little less than sane. "You have to rip the house down! You have to tear it up! You have to burn it all, and then you have to put it back together again!" He ignited Harry's trainers, in the spirit of things. Harry scrambled, trying to extinguish his suddenly flaming feet.

"What the..." Ron started, but Dean was on a roll. Behind him, Seamus was laughing.

"You have to be my Rock and Roller! You are my out-of-controller!" Harry, who had peeled off his trainers, and was willing to agree to anything if would make Dean go away. Dean's eyes had now widened to the point that his irises were now entirely visible. "You have to torch the world!" Dean screamed. "Only then will you be worthy!"

Ron drenched Harry's trainers with a a gasp that might have been a laugh. That wasn't enough to quell Dean.

"Then, and only then will you be able to grasp the power you are dealing with. If you can play one of these, you will have your pick of any bird, anywhere. You must show me that you take this seriously, Mister Potter."

Harry spent the rest of the night in his boxers, wearing the boots the Weasley twins had given him, because Dean insisted that in made him look like a "real rocker". The next day Harry found that his trainers were not even wearable. He knew the Dursleys were going to pitch an absolute fit about that, but he had tried to repair them, and only succeeded in knocking some of the ash off them. Sometimes things were just too far gone. At least he had his dress shoes, if he thought he could stand wearing them that long, or, he supposed, the boots that George and Fred had given him, if he could stand to wear them when he wasn't rocking.

Harry was ready for Defense class on Monday. He had written _ASK SHACKLEBOT_ in flashing green letters on his notes, so he wouldn't forget today. DADA had recently been focusing on how to recognize the vestiges of recently performed dark magic, so he was even somewhat on topic. Shaklebolt was just finishing up a bit on _prior incantato_ when Harry raised his hand. First he had to get it back from Parvati, which she was not willing to do, and when she finally did let go he saw that she had somehow drawn fine lines up and down the back of his hand, as if he had a tattoo. She had done this before, mostly because she had not been amused to discover that Umbridge had forcer Harry to write lines with a quill which had actually inscribed them into Harry's skin. She seemed to be a little compulsive about covering the white scars. Kingsley glanced at Harry's intricately drawn-upon limb for a second before he acknowledged Harry. "Mister Potter?" he rumbled.

"Can dark magic conceal itself completely?"

"Didn't we just spend the last half hour discussing that, Potter?" Draco snidely drawled. "Perhaps you should put your wand to something useful and dig the wax out of your ears."

"Malfoy," Kingsley warned. "I do have to wonder how you mean that, Mister Potter, as we have discussed it quite thoroughly."

Harry sighed inwardly. He wished he'd remembered to ask this on Friday. "What I mean is...say you have a simple ward," Professor Shacklebolt nodded and Parvati wrote something on the top of his notes. "Now say someone tries to walk through it, or cast a spell when they ought not to, or something like that. Can they hide it from the ward, or charm, or whatever it is?"

"Not for the most part," Professor Shacklebolt said, pacing back and forth. "You see, a ward is, for the most part, a passive bit of magic that waits for and active magic to trigger it. Wards can be destroyed, no question about that, but avoiding them is a bit like lighting a candle to help you hide in the dark. The darkness is just the absence of light, just like what keeps a ward in a state of stasis--that is, untriggered--is the absence of magic.

"Does that make sense?" It did not, but Hermione nodded, and if she understood it, she could explain it to Harry later. He nodded too. Connor was looking blankly at his hands, and most of the other students had been talked into a coma by now. _Prior Incantato_ wasn't a spell that most sixth years went gaga over. Harry looked down at his notes, to what Parvati had written.

_There are no simple wards._ Ah well...just one more thing that proved he was a real wizard, even if he didn't always think like one. After class, Ron, Hermione, Parvati, and Harry were walking out together. He got the feeling that they were his honor guard, but Malfoy seemed distinctly uninterested in continuing with their dual. In fact, he was out of the room by the time that Harry was up and had had Parvati's and his bags. A soft voice at the door stopped him dead in his tracks.

"All this talk about tracking charms and someone may think you are up to something..._sneaky_." Harry and his friends spun to see Nott, who was idly glancing at Harry's feet. "Nice boots, by the way." Ron had more or less developed a grudging sort of respect for Nott, from Temporalism. He even nodded

"Uh...thanks. I'm just trying to sort out a bit of trouble I'm having with charms."

"Charms," Nott replied. "Right. Well, I don't know if this will help you sort out your charms, but if it was me, I would think it much easier to avoid the protective charms than to figure out how to beat them."

Harry nodded absently, and even Ron looked shocked. It was amazing to receive advice from a Slytherin, but it was hopeless advice just the same. Connor wasn't simply avoiding the map, or the wards Harry and Ron had worked so diligently to place, just by walking around them.

Harry even went so far as to ask his Wizarding Cards. There wasn't a wizard or witch who specialized in wards, so far as he knew, but even the miniature Dumbledore was at a loss. He would just have to mirror Lupin and bother him...maybe there was something in Sirius's library.


	27. Chapter 27 Here There Be Tygers

**Chapter 27 - The Bluecap Spliner**

Harry's mirror was sitting on the bed, where only he could see it, and then only if he craned his neck. He was actually sitting on the window sill, because it gave him the best form with the Chansonarc, which he was determined to learn, just to spite Snape. Below him, the sun was setting, some of the snow was melting, and Walken and Minnie were again making sporadic appearances. Seamus had already vanished, presumably to find a better venue from which to spy on Minnie. Lavender and Parvati had gone with him, eager to put their intelligence gathering skills to the test. According to the Marauders' map, Connor and Natalie were both behind Hagrid's hut. Harry assumed they were working on the old motorbike. Dean, after showing Harry the scales, was in the common room. The map said Ginny Weasley was as well, which probably explained why. Harry had learned that the Chansonarc responded to where you touched the string, and he and Dean had stuck small pieces of paper to the strings where Harry's fingers were supposed to go, but it still meant that until he got the feel for it, he'd be hitting a lot of sour notes.

When there was a knock at the dormitory door, Harry actually jumped a little. He had been so engrossed with his scales that he had spaced off, which he took as a good sign. Harry glanced down at the map, and seeing a tiny _Filius Flitwick_ outside the dorm, he cleared the piece of parchment, set the Chansonarc down, and stuck his head out in time to invite the diminutive professor in.

"Can I...help you, Professor?" asked Harry, confusedly.

"No, but perhaps I can help you! I...heard...that you may have a malfunctioning ward?" _Snape,_ Harry thought immediately.

"I don't know about malfunctioning," Harry said. "I have some that do odd things."

"And I take it they are..." the tiny professor paused, waving his wand about with his eyes closed. "...here, here, and here," he said, jabbing gently at Harry's bureau, bed, and chest.

"Uh, yeah, that's right."

"Well, Mister Potter, would you mind terribly if I examined them?"

"Not at all," said Harry, although he was a bit self conscious. It would be a stretch to say he was proud of them, but he had _some_ pride in them. Professor Flitwick prodded and poked his bed and chest, and waved his wand over the front of the bureau, and the top part that he could

reach. The other side was a wardrobe for hanging robes, but he checked the door as high as he could reach.

"Well they seem to be in order. Turn around and close your eyes Potter...no, not facing the window...now, tell me when I have violated your space."

Harry did as he was told. "Now. Now. Now." The feeling he got from the wards became gradually fainter, until he had to guess when Flitwick was at it based on the whisper from his wards. "Now. Now...I think. Now, I'm pretty sure."

After a moment Flitwick spoke. "There are really nothing wrong with these, Mister Potter. They seem in good order." He glanced at the two tiny bottles that Hermione had made, the curiosity evident on his face. "May I?"

"Of course!" Harry said. He had always liked Flitwick, and it was nice to think he could own anything marvelous enough to hold the pint-sized Professor's attention. Professor Flitwick took each vial in turn, examining them very carefully. They were identical glass bottles, except one contained the ever-twinkling blue flame, and one a chunk of time that was slightly out of place. Flitwick turned to Harry with one bottle in each hand.

"Miss Granger?" Harry nodded. "Marvelous!" Flitwick sighed at last. "To think, I almost had her!" He replaced the bottles and diverted his attention to the bed, with the mirror. "You know, I remember when your father and Mister Black created those," he said fondly. "They assumed they were a secret, but one does tend to notice two boys gazing at mirrors as if they were smitten with themselves; even two such handsome boys as your father and Sirius." His gaze wandered to the Chansonarc. "Do you play that?"

"Not exactly," Harry said. "But Dean is really good, and he's supposed to teach me. I'm supposed to do scales."

Flitwick extended one hand, "Perhaps I could try, Potter?" Harry nodded. Flitwick took the instrument, holding it with his hands reaching over the bow, rather than under and around. That only made sense, as his arms were half what Dean's were. He paused for a moment, as if trying to decide if he really wanted to do this. Apparently, he decided he did, because he started in on a tune that sounded very Irish.

Rather than the humming buzz, the Chansonarc sounded almost like a very big music box, although he did manage a very odd droning note, like a bagpipe. When he was done, there was clapping behind them, and Harry turned to see Dean and Ginny, applauding genuinely. "I knew that wasn't you!" Dean said. "I was thinking, _what in the world?_"

_Let's see him start Flitwick's shoes on fire!_ Harry thought absently. Professor Flitwick bowed and placed the Chansonarc carefully on the bed. "Forget me! You need him to give you lessons!" Dean exclaimed.

"I am afraid I am a bit too busy for that, Mister Thomas, but I hear you're pretty fair, anyway! I can give him tips, from time to time." Flitwick nodded at the bottles and then turned to Harry. "Mister Potter, thank you for indulging me with your time, and Miss Granger's handiwork." Harry nodded, and Flitwick exited, squeezing by a grubby Connor on the way. He looked the massive American over, and with a quick wave of his wand, managed to get most of the grease and grime from Connor's filthy robes. He then nodded and continued on his way.

Connor looked down at his robes, pulling them away from his chest with surprise. His head snapped to follow Flitwick's rapidly disappearing form. Harry jumped forward before he could enter the room and pulled the curtains on his bed before anyone could get a good look at the mirror, in case it should start glowing.

"Well, we've almost got it," Connor announced. "It was Hermione's help that got us going. It was a nice birthday present, to get that in the air."

"When was your birthday?" Dean asked.

"Saturday," replied Connor. Harry didn't actually know that. He felt a little bad...even though he'd pieced together enough to not be as nervous around Connor, he didn't trust the American enough to buy him a gift. He didn't think anyone else did either, other than Natalie MacDonald. Maybe he'd talk to Ron about getting a Wizarding card for one of the topics Connor actually did well.

"So it flies then?" he asked, conversationally.

"Oh, it flies alright. Not quite like Sirius's thought...Hermione got it figured out how she _could _do it, but not how _he_ did it. Your black bike now has a flying gear, but it's the top end, so it goes first, second, all the way through, and fly." Harry nodded blankly. Connor, perhaps sensing his confusion, added, "It's no big deal, you just can't slow way down while you are flying as much or take off as soon. It'll stall."

"Potter is used to falling off things, by now," Dean quipped. It was very true, though. He had the unfortunate idea that he was. He had a plan on what to do the next time it happened, in any event, and he supposed that meant he was at least getting prepared for it to happen again...if that wasn't getting used to it, what was?

Later that night, Harry was lying in bed with the mirror lying on his stomach. He was waiting for Remus, but was more or less comatose. He had the Marauders' Map open on the mirror, and was slipping in and out of consciousness. Somewhere in his mind, something was shouting at him. He was honestly too tired to care. Perhaps it was Remus. He was at that state in a dream where he was aware that he was dreaming and unwilling to wake up. He refused to even remove his spectacles, which he abstractly knew were on or near his head, if through memory rather than feel. He couldn't actually _feel _anything, other than an electric tingling.

When he had gone to sleep, his fingers were aching from toying with the chansonarc, in spite of Dean's instance that Harry didn't actually have to pluck the strings. He had decided and some point in the early evening that regardless of how many birds he pulled or shoes he burned, he would be quite satisfied with watching Dean or Professor Flitwick play and never touch it again. Only the thought of Snape's triumphantly smirking sneer that his failure would most assuredly elicit would force him to have anything to do with it.

The next few days went by uneventfully, with nothing extraordinary happening, which was fine by him. On April first, the castle went absolutely insane. Every student in Hogwarts seemed to think it their duty to fill the void left by the Weasley twins, and that was astonishingly easy, since the twins had managed to produce a boatload of kits just for making mischief. Harry was almost positive Ginny was involved, because even Ron had been slipped a chocolate frog with a card that cursed loudly whenever it was exposed to light. She was one of the only Gryffindors left unscathed in the entire castle.

Harry was considering advising that next time she pick out something for herself, but she had retired to the girls' dorm; either to avoid being pranked after surviving the entire day untouched, or more likely, to avoid casting herself in a suspicious light. After the evening meal; which was poorly attended as everyone had assumed by that point that everything edible in the castle would cause them to swell up, age, or bleat like a random animal, Hermione was showing off her newest invention. It was, as usual, spectacular. The long pole she had been using to retrieve the floating second years was leaning against the wall next to her, and various books, boxes, bottles, and clay balls were arrayed before her.

"You see?" She was fiddling with one of her books.

"I don't actually, Hermione," Harry said. He had just gotten his feet back to a normal size and was not mentally prepared for Hermione. Parvati was idly drawing on his hand again. The lines were squiggling on their own accord, and shifted colors gently from a sort of gold-ish to a dark brown.

"Here, watch." She tapped her forehead with her wand, then made a complex pattern on the page of the book. Then she slid it over the top of the table with one finger. The polish on her nail glowed subtly in the dim common room light. Ron was standing over her shoulder, having arrived halfway through Hermione's lecture over what the book did. Harry had been there through the whole thing, and he didn't even understand it. Something to do with memories again. As studious as Hermione was, he could see why she was so obsessed with remembering everything. She was staring at him.

"Go ahead then!"

He hadn't really been paying attention, but he was certain he would know how to do it.

"Recordatio."

Rather than the spinning of his mother's pendant, or the clay ball, or the sinking of a pensive, Harry simply had a memory that wasn't his. In the memory he was looking across a table at himself, while Parvati drew on his hand with her wand-tip. She was wearing a casual robe today, having already been the target of one too many projectile vomiting Weasley victims, and the Skyball dangled alluringly at her neckline. Her hair was braided in the back, and she had a bored look on her face. He could smell traces of a perfume he knew was Parvati's, as well as a much more solid one he recognized must belong to Hermione. Somewhere, he was vaguely familiar of a hand on his back. Ron's he realized, looking at how his friend was standing.

"Bloody h-"

Parvati clamped her hand over his mouth with an impish grin.

"It's for your own good. Words can come back to haunt you!" She'd know, Harry thought. He pushed the book to Ron.

"Recordatio,"

Ron tapped a page. After a moment he cocked his head to the side, then lifted Hermione out of her chair.

"You're brilliant, that's what you are. Did I ever tell you that?"

"Every day," Hermione shot back, but she was grinning. Harry was distracted again. Parvati was breathing in his ear. He was seriously in danger of becoming too attached for her own good. The worst part is that most of him wanted that.

"Well, I figured the condensing books were made for storing things, why not memories?" Hermione said casually.

"You're going to put Pensives out of business," Ron said proudly.

"No, I rather doubt it. Memories take up...quite a bit of room. So much in fact, that each page in this is good for only one. And as you could see, it's only an instant. No moving, no talking...and there's nothing to really protect them." She casually pointed her wand at a bleating first year.

"_Finate incantatum_." It didn't seem to work. He still sounded like a baby sheep.

"You're under-selling yourself, as usual," Ron gushed. He dug in his robe pocket until he extracted a small, swirly sweet, and tossed it casually to the first year. The young boy unwrapped it with his teeth, and immediately after popping it in his mouth smiled.

"Thanks!" he stammered.

Ron waved his hand, as though he was just doing a civic duty. "It's still fantastic," he said. Harry nodded with his ears buzzing and Parvati's slightly minty breath surrounding him. That was true.

Two days later they were standing in potions. Neville was nearly delirious, because his potion had finally cured. It now resembled a bottle of smoke, and just to ensure it wasn't sabotaged, there were half a dozen more bottles resting in a box in Connor's travel chest. Neville was irrepressibly ecstatic, and it rubbed off on all the Gryffindors. Snape didn't call on Neville for anything for the entire period; that was his reward, as far as Harry was concerned.

The following Monday they learned the _spatium tornare_-the step- in Temporalism. Really, it was very much like a faster, simpler, shorter apparition, only it would work in Hogwarts. Harry wasn't sure why they had waited so long to learn it, but Ron thought it was simply because after learning to Apparate, the step would be easy. Hermione agreed. Harry was more of the opinion that it was because one could step where one could step where one hadn't been...they simply had to _know_ where they were going. Handy as this may have been for locked doors and Bubbles in time, stepping into a space where something already existed sounded rather painful.

The wand sleeves they had all been working so diligently on had to sit for a week or so. To say they had to cure wasn't exactly the right way to put it, but there was magic that took time to sink in, or set, or bind, or whatever it was going to do. They were all sitting on a shelf in the classroom, with labels on them that looked curiously like the Muggle toe-tags Harry had seen on television.

During another uneventful week, Harry managed to get both Parvati and himself a detention, though if he was to be fair about it, she _had _agreed to meet, so she _was_ at least partially deserving. She had never received detention in her entire Hogwarts career, and she seemed equal parts mortified and excited; proud to finally be a rebel rule-breaker.

"Oh, Harry...what if we get Snape and we have to touch something dreadful, and I ruin _another_ robe, or get it in my hair and it turns it awful colors, or...what's so funny?" She was glaring broodingly at Harry, who was smiling as they walked to the Muggle Studies classroom.

"It was a Prefect who caught us," Harry shrugged, as though it was obvious. After another moment of Parvati staring he realized that, to her, it wasn't. "When the prefect catches you, you wind up doing something for the school, not a teacher. We may have to polish trophies, or something for Filch, but if he knows about it, it's just as likely we'll only have to help out Hagrid. He likes to watch out for...us."

"Us?"

"You know. Me. Ron. Hermione."

"I don't fancy working for _that _big oaf," she sulked.

"That 'big oaf' is my friend, you know," Harry snapped, more harshly than he had intended. "And a professor."

They walked in silence. All through class, Harry did his best to give Parvati the silent treatment, although it was more drama than he was comfortable with and certainly more than he was used to. It was a rare day that they weren't yelled at even once in Muggle Studies, and even after Temporalism, Harry managed to keep his distance. Finally Parvati tracked him down, just as he and Ron were about to call their game of chess in the common room a draw. A draw against Ron was a win, in Harry's book. Parvati stood over his shoulder, looking at the board. He could see her reflection in the huge windows, and she hitched as though she was about to speak several times.

Finally, Ron looked up at her. "You got something to say?"

"I'll be a moment," Harry said to Ron, turning and rising.

"I'm sorry," Parvati said when they were out of earshot. "That was mean. He's not an oaf."

"You don't sound very sorry," Harry observed.

"Well how do I know we won't get stuck rounding up more skrewts?"

That was a fair question. "You don't."

"He makes us deal with all these hideous things, and they're _dangerous_, and that's what I meant," she said all in one breath.

"Look," Harry said, throwing an arm around Parvati's shoulder. "Hagrid may get some...odd things from time to time..."

"Odd?"

"Okay, really odd. But that's because he just wants to see the good in everything and everybody. Deep down, he's hoping maybe they're just misunderstood."

Parvati locked eyes with him. "Well, okay, but if he has us going for something that can melt us, I don't know if I can ever talk to you again. I mean, I know he's your friend and all..."

"Just give him a chance," Harry said. He didn't want to be mad at Parvati anymore; even if she was bad at apologies.

"A. A chance." She hugged him, and he hugged her back.

Saturday morning Hannah Abbot told Hermione their detention would indeed be served with Hagrid, and on Saturday night, at nearly midnight, they were standing outside Hagrid's hut, listening to Fang shuffle around and bark amid some thudding, banging, and cursing. Finally Hagrid opened the door.

"Ruddy little blighters...hallo, Harry...Parvati."

"Uhhh...what is that?" Parvati pointed at the blue-almost violet-ball in Hagrid's hand, which occasionally twitched as though it was testing the waters for an escape.

"Ahhh. That's a Bluecap Spliner; dead useful they are. Nearly anything that eats can live off them...sort of a universal food, of sorts."

"Does it bite?" she asked. Hagrid shook his head. "Sting?" He shook his head again. "Pinch? Vomit? Breathe fire or...well...anything really?"

All through it, Hagrid was shaking his head with a mildly confused expression. "Don't have mouths, do they? No claws; 'least I don't think so." He held up the Bluecap Spliner. "He's just particularly clever, for a fungus. I won't be surprised if you only manage to catch a handful." Parvati considered this. "I jus' figured you'd like somethin' to do at night, well, seein' as that's when you-"

"Where can we find them?" Harry interrupted his friend before Parvati died of shame.

"Well, all over, in the forest. They aren't easy to spot, but you'll know 'em when you see 'em. Look like little bluish moons around roots and under things. They'll probably be easiest to spot if you look ahead of your light, or behind it, since they like to play it dangerous..."

"Dangerous?" Parvati asked. She had momentarily relaxed but was now going back on high alert.

"Oh not to you. They seem to enjoy a good game of...well...ditch'em, so it were."

"They...tease us?"

"Well," Hagrid stroked his beard theatrically. "I wouldn't say 'tease ya'. More like...tempt fate. I think deep down they like to get caught, so long as it's a proper challenge. Anyway, like I say, ya' may just see 'em hiding. Sometimes, it works best if ya' put out yer light and jus' wait a while, in the quiet." He winked at Harry, and to Harry's enormous relief, Parvati wasn't looking at Hagrid's face, but examining the exceptionally clever fungus in his gigantic hand, so she didn't see it.

"What do we do if we catch one?" she asked hesitantly.

"Oh! I'm glad y'asked." Hagrid turned and took a leather pouch from a hook on the wall. It had a floppy lid that latched shut. "Just throw 'em in there. Calms 'em right down it does; I think they like the company. And maybe the dark."

"Thanks, Hagrid," Harry said. He wasn't going to admit it, but he had been holding his breath and hoping intently that their detention wouldn't involve any of the typical misunderstood but nonetheless deadly _friends_. Parvati might indeed never talk to him again.

"Harry..." Harry turned back to the hut. Fang was idly scratching at his collar with a paw the size of a salad plate, and Hagrid was leaning against his door frame. "Don't worry about looking for more than three hours or so." Harry turned back to Parvati, who looked as though she wanted to laugh at him. Three hours of hunting exceptionally clever fungi?

A while later, Harry was not laughing. Bluecap Spliners may have been the only fungus he knew with a sense of humor, and it looked to be a bad one, because as far as the hunt went, he was quite literally flailing in the dark. He couldn't tell if the shining he saw beyond the glow cast by his wand was caused by Spliners, animal eyes, or even insects; and every time he got anywhere near something glowing, it vanished without a trace. He tried peeling up a dead log but all he found underneath were a variety of things that squirmed and had lots of little legs.

Even worse, Parvati had captured a few of them, and she regarded his inadequacy at wrangling fungi with a certain sense of pride; the chosen one, Harry Potter, defied by a clever fungus. They had split up over Harry's intense objections, because Parvati said he breathed like a horse and couldn't sneak up on a not-particularly-alert plank of lumber. He could still see her wand glowing far behind him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a circle of bluish-violet glowing just beyond his wand light. Rather than turning to study it, he waited, watching Parvati's light off in the distance, then lunged with a mighty leap, directly into some sort of prickly shrub that was wrapped with a vine.

Between his fingers, a blue light glowed feebly. He had done it! He was the master of the Bluecap Spliner! He felt like bellowing in triumph, and might have, if he hadn't heard faint voices. He glanced behind him, where there was no longer any light from Parvati's wand. Harry stealthily disillusioned himself and crept forward, trying his best to avoid becoming entangled in the foliage or impaled on thorns. There was very little light in the forest, now that he had extinguished his wand, but he had been faithfully consuming the thick paste Neville had been making all year for his eyes, and amazingly, his night vision was pretty good. It helped that in front of him was a smallish clearing that let in some starlight.

It took a very long time to reach the point where he could see anything other than trees. When he did, he had to wave his hand in front of his eyes to ensure his eyes really were open, and he wasn't seeing things. Ahead of him was a robed wizard and the largest cat he had ever seen. The wizard was tall and broad, and vaguely familiar. The cat was a muted orange and black, even in the gloomy night, and looked longer than Harry was tall.

"I'm safe here," the tall wizard said. Connor, Harry realized, and he wasn't surprised. "You can't touch me." The tiger sat and licked its lips. Its teeth were longer than Harry's fingers. The cat casually swiped a nearby tree, leaving frightening-looking gashes in the bark. Connor stared at the mangled wood. "I know why you're here. You can't touch me at Hogwarts," he said, without as much bravado as before. "You might have come this far, but in here...I'm totally untrackable here. This place has protections for its students, and I'm a student."

Harry could have sworn the tiger shrugged. He wanted to stay and see more, but he was not about to endanger Parvati. She was still alone, out there somewhere in the dark, with a giant cat and a possibly unbalanced wizard on the loose.

With a burst of feathers, Harry shot from the bush. He only had a matter of moments before he shifted back into human Harry again, so the timing for this would be critical. Ahead of him, he could see a glimmer that may have been Parvati. His night vision was surprisingly not that great as a bird. After only a few seconds, he could feel the tingling in his fingers that meant he was shifting back, and he called out to Parvati.

It was still the screech of a hawk, and she looked up, her bright eyes gleaming. With a muffled _poof_, Harry burst back into his normal form in a cloud of feathers. He was still in the air, and was definitely not oriented in the proper way to comfortably survive a crash landing. As he flew over Parvati, he reached out and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her off her feet.

"_Spatium Sinus!_" The walls of the bubble had always looked and felt somewhat soft; inviting and curving, but when one was flying into them at a high rate of speed, they weren't at all soft. Immediately after he stunned himself slamming onto the wall, Parvati landed on top of him in a heap. She, too, looked curvy and inviting, and like the walls, it was a lie. At least for now it was.

"Harry! Have you gone mental?"

Harry had a dilemma. He did not want to admit to Parvati why he had very nearly killed them both...for once, it _wasn't_ at all Hagrid's fault, but it would surely look to her like he had sent them both into a perilous situation. She would never trust Hagrid again, and she might even blame Harry. He also didn't know remotely what was going on with Connor, and Parvati was too smart and too curious to leave anything like this uninvestigated. If he was as dangerous as he seemed to be, that could be hazardous to Parvati's health. He hated to lie to her, but in this case, it might be best just to delay the story a little. Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out a somewhat battered Bluecap. It wiggled feebly. "I got one," he said, with a sheepish grin.

Parvati cocked her head. "You mean you swooped in like a mad pilot just to tell me you got _one_?" Harry shrugged, smiling. Parvati held the leather satchel aloft, unbuckling and opening the flap. "It looks rather lonely."

It did, in fact, look somewhat forlorn and sad, sitting in his palm all alone.

"Perhaps we should put it with these." There were several handfuls of Bluecap Spliners in the bag; far more, Harry was certain, than Hagrid could have expected in a week of nocturnal forays into the forest. She smiled triumphantly.

"Did you find a whole nest of them?"

"You don't respect me enough, Harry." She looked around. "Can you get out of these yet?" Harry didn't even consider lying this time. It was one thing to stall on the truth a little; it was another to tell a direct lie. That wasn't in Harry's character. Even if it was, Padma, Parvati's twin sister, was in Temporalism. He's wind up caught for sure. Anyway, he had a better idea.

"Well, yeah, but why?"

"You are a very bad person, Harry Potter."

"Maybe I am," he agreed. Sometimes he was.


	28. Chapter 28 Ex Nihlo

**Chapter 28 - Ex Nihlo**

When the bubble around Harry and Parvati finally disappeared, Harry did his very best to wander casually but directly towards Hagrid's hut. Parvati was too excited about her bag of Bluecaps to question the way in which their hunt ended. She even knocked on Hagrid's door with a firm but distinctly feminine tap. Harry wasn't sure how a knock could be girly, but Parvati's was.

"I was just about to come and fetch ya'," Hagrid said, opening the door wide. A rectangle of light silhouetted them both. "Ya' put some proper time into it. Did ya' manage to find any?" He said, ushering them in.

Parvati opened the leather bag with a flourish. "Is this good?" The smile on her face said she already knew the answer.

Hagrid simply stared at the bag, his mouth slightly ajar. Finally he found his voice. "That's worth ten points to Gryffindor."

"Can you be awarded points on a detention?" Harry asked. He could have gone his entire school career and never even considered such a thing until tonight.

"I guess you're probably not supposed to, but I reckon we'll see tomorrow, if they're taken away." He shrugged. "I guess I see why it took ya' a while."

"Hagrid?" Parvati said almost hesitantly. Hagrid beamed down at her. "What do they taste like?"

"They taste different to everyone. If ya' want, it won't hurt ya to try one."

She picked through the bag for the smallest one. "It won't hurt me? Are you certain? I mean, for real certain."

"I've eaten loads myself." He waved vaguely at Fang, who was asleep under the table. "Fang ate 'em all winter, when we got snowed in." Fang lazily opened one eye at the mention of his name, then snorted and rolled over. "Ya'd do well to remember that a few of those is like a whole day's food, so ya don't want ta' overdo 'em."

"What do they taste like to you?"

Hagrid thought about it. "Kind of a chewy toffee taste." He nodded.

Parvati slowly raised the Bluecap to her mouth. Fortunately it didn't twitch, as Harry was fairly certain she wouldn't have ever tried it then, but he was curious too. She delicately bit it in half and chewed experimentally.

"Well?" Harry asked. Hagrid was watching her too. Her and Lavender hadn't always been enthusiastic in his classes...Harry thought he might be as curious as she was.

"They taste like...scallops. Buttered scallops. With garlic." She shoved the other half in Harry's mouth before he was ready for it. He had no choice but to chew it up. He did this slowly. "Well?" she asked with anticipation.

"Peaches," Harry said. "It tastes like peaches."

"I'm right proud of you two," Hagrid said. "If you ever need some time late at night to yourselves, I can always use more o'these. As many as you can get."

Harry thought some time alone with Parvati was a fantastic idea. She was smiling but unreadable. They said their goodbyes and headed back to the castle, since it was now half past three in the morning, and Parvati looked as if she was going to fall over. Harry felt the same way. When they were halfway to the castle he turned to her.

"I left something in Hagrid's hut, I have to go back!"

"What?"

"Some wizarding cards...I put them out so we wouldn't lose them in the forest."

"We can get them tomorrow." She slumped against him, knocking him sideways.

"I have to run back and get them. If Ron finds out..." he left the sentence un-finished. If she let him go back, it meant Parvati would get to keep a secret; if there was one thing she loved to do, it was keep secrets.

"Go ahead," she said, predictably. "I'll wait for you in the common room, if you aren't too long."

"I won't be." He ran back to Hagrid's and pounded on the door. From the sound of it, Hagrid had gone to bed.

"Harry? Sumthin' wrong?"

"You can't tell anyone," Harry puffed.

"Course not. Man to man. Er...what?"

"A cat. A bloody great tiger, right in the forest. I saw it on accident while it was clawing up a tree and ran away before it could see me. Er...flew away, actually. Connor was with it."

Hagrid raised one massive eyebrow. "A...tiger?" Harry nodded. "Like the big orange kind?" Harry nodded again. Hagrid stared over Harry's shoulder. Harry could almost hear the gears in his head spinning. "Well, there aren't any here. You certain?"

"I don't reckon it was supposed to be there," he snapped. "It had to be an animagus. And I don't trust Colier."

"Alright, Harry. I have to ask. I reckon you're rightm beings that...well...there aren't any. Like I said." He paused. "Why don't ya' trust Conner? He seems like a good lad to me. Always cheery in class."

Harry had forgotten that Connor was in Hagrid's class. There weren't many spells, so it was spot on for him. "I have my reasons. Like for instance, I just _saw him_ in the forbidden forest talking to a stupid tiger."

"He seems to like you," Hagrid said hopefully.

"Maybe. I'm sorry," Harry said. "I'm knackered."

"I'll go out and look tomorrow, Harry, and I'm not sayin' it's there, but if it is, it'll be ruddy lucky to get clear of the centaurs. Connor, too, if he's still out there. He's right enough to me, but the centaurs won't really care about that."

Harry nodded. "Just...keep this to yourself, okay?"

"Well, you know I will." He shook his head sleepily. "You better get back to the castle now."

Parvati was on the sofa in the common room when Harry got back. The last embers of the dying fire barely illuminated her, making the gold in her hair glimmer. She was looking at something in her lap. "What have you got?" She didn't respond. He walked around to get a better look at what she was holding, before he realized that she was asleep. She was holding a single small Bluecap loosely in one hand.

"C'mon," Harry muttered, pulling her to her feet. She was murmuring complaints and insisting that she hadn't really been asleep, but merely resting her eyes. Harry stopped short of the stairs. If he fired those off in the middle of the night, he'd very likely be cursed, jinxed, and physically abused. Just before Parvati began her slow climb up the stairs, she turned and kissed his ear. Then she leaned against the wall as she ascended the stairs, and Harry watched her until she was out of sight.

Why that single kiss on the ear should stick in his mind when they had spent half the night snogging was a mystery, but it did.

Back in his own dormitory, Connor was snoring noisily on his bed, bare chest highlighted by the moonlight and splayed fingers almost touching the ground. Harry thought for a moment. Then he waved his wand subtly and a yellowish haze soaked into Connor's Boots and highlighted them briefly. The spell wouldn't last more than a night, but he was hoping that was all he'd need.

He slumped into his own bed, noting dourly that the mirror's edges were glowing a faint blue. Before he went to sleep, Harry took a peek at the map to make sure the dot that marked Connor was in his bed.

The next day, Harry was awakened by shrieks and gales of laughter.

"AAAH! He's trying to kill me!" a hoarse voice shrieked.

Harry fumbled with his glasses. Next to him, he heard one of his Wizarding cards complaining from their spot on his bureau.

"No respect! No respect at all!" It sounded like a woman.

"This is what happens when they do away with public flogging," announced another. Harry was pretty sure that was Salazar Slytherin.

By this time, Harry had his glasses on. Connor was fighting with his boots, which seemed to be resisting his feet ardently.

"Get on, you worthless pieces of...something worthless!" Connor hissed, through clenched teeth. The boot was squirming in his hand.

"Oh, do help!" The hoarse voice protested again. "He's crushing me. I feel oppressed! Tread upon!"

"Tread upon!" screeched the other boot, in a weedy voice. "That's a good one!"

"I jolly well thought so," the first boot agreed. Throughout this, Dean, Seamus, and Ron were howling with laughter. "I say, boy! Unhand me! Those great feet of yours are crushing my soul. Get it? My sole?"

"Marvelous!" the other boot hooted.

Harry hadn't intended to create obnoxious footwear; he just wanted to be alarmed before Connor left for the morning. It was good entertainment, though.

With a mighty grunt, Connor pulled the feisty boot on and grabbed its less talkative companion. "Oh, the indignity of it all!" the second one protested. The first one might have said something more, but Connor's foot had muzzled it, so it sounded very much like an irate trombone. Harry used this time to spring from bed and throw on a robe. He was glad Neville was off somewhere and wouldn't see what was coming next.

He tapped Ron shoulder with his wand. Ron glanced at him.

"We need to talk to Connor. This morning. Now." Ron was silent. "_I saw something._" Harry whispered. Ron cocked his head. "I promise I'll explain later! Look, do you have my back?"

"I always will, mate," Ron nodded. Harry looked back at Connor, who had managed to get the uncooperative boots on his feet. Harry pulled on his own boots, as his trainers were still quite burned to a cinder and would probably stay that way. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ron slipping his own shoes on.

Connor glanced around the dormitory at the captive audience. "Not. Funny."

"Dead hilarious, mate," Dean managed. There were shrugs and nods from the others. Connor was managing to look stern, but Harry had seen him madder before. As he turned to go, Harry rose and followed him, and Ron brought up the back. As soon as they were in the cramped stairway Harry drew his wand, wagging it softly as if he was conducting the Wizarding Philharmonic, and counting down silently in his head.

A quarter-hour later, the three of them were standing in the room of requirement. Connor was not happy at having been escorted at wand-point. On his feet, his boots were still managing the occasional feeble objection.

The room of requirement was a simple box, one with ugly green walls and a single long table in the middle. There was a single chair on one side and two on the other. Harry recognized it as the interrogation room on a popular police drama that his aunt Petunia had watched religiously for the last few years.

"You could have just asked me, you know," he was complaining. He still had his hands held up at shoulder level. Harry knew he was fast with a wand.

"Fine," Harry said. "Why are you at Hogwarts? Why have you been sneaking around since you got here? And why were you in the forbidden forest with an animagus last night?" He'd had a chance to tell Ron a little, but Ron's normally placid face still crinkled a little.

"I'm here because I'm a wizard." Harry flicked his wand at the chair.

"Sit."

"And keep your hands on the table," Ron added, menacingly. "You don't just show up here at Hogwarts for no reason!" He had gotten into the mood as he had heard more and more from Harry on the way to the Room of Requirement, and was now properly agitated. "You had to do something to get sent over here, and I want to know what it is! It's only fair, I _am_ a Prefect you know, and if you've been in some kind of trouble before..."

"In trouble before?" Connor snorted. He started to raise his hands until Ron tapped his wand-tip on the table. "Sometimes I think I've never been out of trouble."

"I wonder why," Harry added, sarcastically. "I mean, you show up at Hogwarts, a year behind, then you make every one of your house-mates hate you."

"They were jealous," he muttered. Probably true, but Harry wasn't about to give in. The time had come to learn what Connor was hiding.

"_Then_ you get in classes you can't handle, sneak around the castle and _through_ wards, and assault another student."

"What other student?" Ron asked, looking from Harry to Connor.

"Draco," Connor spat. "He attacked me."

This was also true, but Harry was certain that maintaining his momentum was pretty important right now. "Then last night, you were out in the forbidden forest, talking to an animagus."

Conner looked at. "How do you know that? Can you prove it?"

Harry shifted from one foot to the other. "I saved the memory someplace safe." He could feel Ron staring at the back of his head, and he wondered if it was possible to be a terrible wizard and a legimans.

Connor continued to stare. "He's not any more of a Wizard than I am," he remarked finally, looking to the ground.

"He was in the forest, and he's an animagus, and that makes him a wizard."

"_I'm_ here. I'm still not a very good wizard."

"Good point," Ron nodded. "You're a dreadful wizard."

"So I suppose that means I should stroll right up to that bloody tiger-"

"The what?" Ron asked.

"Don't go near him," Connor said quickly.

"Harry," Ron whispered. "A tiger...that's...big. If he is a wizard..." Ron let his thoughts trail off.

"I thought you said he wasn't much of a wizard?" Harry replied. Connor started to lower his hands and Ron extended his wand menacingly. "I've been dealing with bloody Voldemort since before I could walk, thank you."

"He's not a wizard. He's...a weapon," Connor said, searching for the words with apparent difficulty. They took a long time to come out, anyway. "He'd...hurt you; and not a pleasant, easy hurt."

"Not likely. You think I'm a total pushover?"

Connor laughed. It sounded forced. "I bet you'd do okay, but you're no weapon, Harry."

This was not going as he expected, and he was getting angry. To make it worse, Connor seemed to be getting calmer, which was even more infuriating. He sputtered angrily for a while. "I've got to kill one of the worst wizards ever. Do you think I'm not up to it?" He stuck his wand in Connor's face.

"Do you know the darkest curses, Harry? Even more important, will you use them?"

"I don't need to."

Connor nodded. The look on his face was one of genuine contemplation. "I bet you don't. And you're pretty sneaky, I know that, but are you good enough to get from the top of this castle to the bottom, day or night, without being seen?"

"I have...ways-"

"That cloak comes in pretty handy there, I bet. And I've seen DA. So tell me, do you do offensive tactics as well? If you had to, do you know how to pick the weakest person out of a line? Can you see which is most likely to start a fight?"

"Enough," Ron warned.

"I'm getting sick of this," Harry said. "_I'll _ask the questions, if you don't mind." Ron nodded in agreement, but he was remaining silent, absorbing this all.

Connor went on as if he hadn't heard. "Can you smell fear? If you were chasing someone, could you know which way they were going to run before they did? Could you hunt someone? Stalk them?"

"Listen..."

Connor paused only a moment before going on. "And will you kill someone, even if he's not trying to kill you? Even the darkest wizard? I understand that has something to with how your mother saved your life. Maybe it runs in your family."

Harry was going to tell the American to shut up, or curse him into it, but something stopped him. This wasn't him. Ron raised his wand but Harry put a hand on his arm, slowly lowering it. Threatening people...cursing them to get his way...it wasn't what he did; and something in his head told him that if he did, he would cease to be the Harry he knew.

Connor waited patiently before he spoke up. "Too late, Harry," Connor said. You need to answer that one decisively. You need to say yes without thinking. A weapon can be a tool of good, or bad, but ultimately it destroys, because that's what weapons do. Even _good_ ones. Especially good ones. If anything, Harry, you're a shield. You're the exact opposite of a weapon. I suppose that's what makes this whole Voldemort situation rough on you. If you were truly a weapon, you'd simply kill him and get on with it. Easier said than done, I know, but that's not what your problem is, is it?"

"No," Harry said, lowering his own wand slowly.

"Your problem is you're not a sneaker, or a stalker, or a hunter, or a killer." Harry stared at him.

"And you are?" Ron asked, looking aghast at Connor.

"A killer? No. I don't want to be what I am."

"What are you, then?" Ron asked. That, in Harry's mind, was a very good question.

"I'm..._something. _I'm...not good, Harry. Ron. I try to be, but that wasn't how I was made."

"You have a choice," Harry said, shaking his head and looking at Connor's boots.

Ron agreed. "I want to do terrible things all the time. Who doesn't? The trick is just not to do them, right?"

"Not me. I don't have a choice. You should know how that feels, Harry. It doesn't sound to me like you have much of a choice, either."

"I do, though. And so do you. And don't think I haven't noticed what you're doing. You haven't answered any of my questions."

"I have answered as many as I can," Connor insisted.

Ron shook his head. "I feel...less-than-satisfied Harry. How about you, mate?"

"Who are you?" Harry asked.

"Connor Colier. Bad wizard."

"Who was that with you in the woods?"

"Altasia. Very bad wizard. Please," Connor pleaded. "Stay away. I can't protect you from him." It was odd to see the American anything other than aggressively self-assured.

"Why are you sneaking around?" Ron ventured.

"I was made that way," Connor said.

Ron was shaking his head. "You'll have to do better than that, mate. Seriously better."

Connor was quiet for a while. Finally he spoke. "Katherine Lyall."

"What?" Ron said. Harry silently stared.

"Look, tell Dumbledore Katherine Lyall. He'll need to tell you. He made me promise not to tell you some things. Made me swear. More than swear. I can tell you that, though, and he'll have to tell you."

"Who's that, then?" Harry asked.

"I loved her. I loved her so much. I wanted to protect her, even though she was better than me at everything." Harry and Ron were still. "Better at magic. Better at taking care of herself. And us. Better at...other things. It should have been me that died."

"How did she die?" Harry asked slowly. His grip on his wand tightened. He now had more questions unanswered than he'd started out with, and that didn't seem possible. Unbelievably, Connor was crying. Big silver streaks flowed down his cheeks, and momentarily, he looked like a very large, very lost child. If it was an act, it was a good one. Then as fast as the tears came, Connor frowned and slammed his hands on the table.

"Him. Altasia. He killed her. It should have been me. I found her-when she was dying-I found her. It was like a movie. I thought if I wished hard enough, that if I was willing to trade my life for hers, I might save her." Connor wiped his cheeks roughly with the heel of his palm. He pounded his hands on the table again. Both Ron and Harry reflexively raised their wands; then let them drift downward again. Ron was looking quite confused. Harry didn't blame him. Connor was gritting his teeth so hard veins were popping out on his temples. "Well, I never wished so hard in my life. I never wanted to die so bad, ever. She died in my arms anyway. It didn't do a damned thing. I couldn't do a damned thing." He stared at his finger-tips.

"Who was she? What are you?" Harry asked.

"I can't tell you," Connor snuffled. He took a deep breath. "I want to, but I can't. Dumbledore did something..."

"What if I think you're lying?" Harry said, levelly. His wand was again raised.

A light hand on his shoulder shocked him into relaxing. Ron was pulling him lightly back. He shook his head. "There're things, Harry. Things that a wizard can do to stop another wizard from talking; I think he's telling the truth." Harry studied Connor, who had his hands buried in his long, sandy hair. His eyes were closed. "Show me something," Ron said. "Something you can't explain." Harry was a little lost, but Ron came from a wizarding family, and Harry knew enough to trust his friend on this one.

Connor looked at them both, with red-lined eyes. "I told you, I can't tell..."

"Don't tell," Ron repeated. "Show me. Show me something you promised not to tell us."

Connor gazed at the tabletop, which had quite a few words carved into it. Some were even polite. He raised his hands and stood slowly, then leaned over the table. With a whispery exhale, he transfigured into a cat.

It wasn't the massive tiger Harry had seen last night, nor was it the simple tabby of Minerva McGonagall. Connor was about half way in between...far larger than most dogs Harry had seen, and a light sandy brown with markings around his eyes, long legs, and frightening teeth. He leapt easily onto the table-top and sat on top. His tail, which looked to be as long as he was, twitched a bit. The end was white. After a few moments, certainly long enough to prove it was not the transfiguration they had been doing in class, Connor reverted. He lightly leapt off the table and his boots gave out an _oomph_ as he landed. "Crushing my sole," muttered one, barely loud enough to hear.

Connor ignored it. "I don't know how you are following me. Wards. Tracking charms. Whatever. When I'm...like that, none of them seem to work very well. Save that for Dumbledore, in case he doesn't tell you."

Harry and Ron both continued to stare for several more long and silent moments. "We're going to have a chat with the headmaster," Harry said. "Remember this. I can find you, and stop you, if I think you're doing anything you shouldn't be. Anything at all."

Connor nodded and Harry stepped out of the room with Ron in tow.

"So...Dumbledore then?" he asked, only it didn't sound like a question.

Harry studied the door for the room of requirement. "Well, somebody owes us some answers." He turned to Ron. "You don't have to come if you don't want to."

Ron managed to look hurt. "After all this time..."

"Right then," Harry nodded.

As the rode the stairway up, Harry tried to make sense of everything he'd gathered. It wasn't particularly successful. At the top, the thick oaken door to the Headmaster's office was closed. Harry raised the pewter knocker that was in the shape of a climbing chocolate frog. He let it drop and a single rap sounded out in the silence if the hall.

"Enter!" A voice cried from the other side of the door. Harry opened the door rather harder than he intended to, but forced himself to recover quickly.

"I was in the forest last night."

"That seems a...particularly strange thing to admit, given that I am your headmaster, and it is called the _Forbidden_ Forest."

"I was serving a detention," Harry admitted, and Dumbledore nodded serenely. "I was hunting Fungus. Bluecaps; you can ask Hagrid."

"Ah! Did you have any luck? They are, if my memory serves me, quite...seditious. For a fungus, of course."

Harry had learned that the best way to converse with Dumbledore was to politely discus everything, but to keep the conversation moving in the right direction. Dumbledore tended to derail it quite often. "Parvati was out there too. She was quite good at it, actually." Harry nodded. "Got a sack full."

"As you know doubt know, they are rather useful. In my younger days, I attempted quite resolutely to replicate their properties. Unfortunately, one property I could not duplicate was their taste and consistency...both a bit like chalk. Totally inedible." He spread his hands and shrugged sadly. "May I ask...did you eat one?"

"Half of one." Dumbledore leaned forward and arched his fingers. Harry was reminded of how inordinately curious the man was. "Peaches."

"Ah!" He looked somewhat delighted. "Well, that is pleasant; but tell me, you can't have come to discuss fungi."

Harry took a deep breath. "Conner told me to tell you 'Katherine Lyall.'"

Dumbledore's face fell, at least, as much as it ever fell. He glanced from Harry to Ron and back to Harry again. "I'm sorry my young friends, but I cannot discuss other students."

"What if that student is actually an animagus?" said Ron.

"Pardon me?" said the Headmaster.

"He's a catamount. I've seen it." He waved his fingers in front of his eyes mysteriously. "With these."

"Regardless, I really shouldn't dicuss..."

"He doesn't set off my wards," Harry said, quickly. Dumbledore paused. "I mean, I don't think he's up to something, but can you at least tell me why?"

"I fail to see how that relates to Miss Lyall, Harry."

Harry felt he was on the verge of making a mental connection, but still couldn't connect anything. "Colier...Connor...said that another wizard killed her. What if that one doesn't set of wards either?"

Dumbledore slumped slowly into his chair, and in an uncharacteristic gesture, rested his fingertips on his closed eyes. It made him look very old indeed. He waved a hand and two largish chairs skittered over to where Ron and Harry stood.

He took a few deep breaths, and started talking more than once, but it was several moments before he actually made it past an "Ah" or "Well".

"Some years ago- many years ago- there was a prevailing theory that part of the reason that Wizards and Muggles couldn't get along was that there wasn't a way for one to become the other...Wizards could not become Muggles, and Muggles could not become Wizards. Of course, since the very beginning there have been attempts at stripping the magic from the wizard, with limited success. Hogwarts, for example, can keep many spells from functioning properly, among them apparition and some types of magical detection. Stripping the magic from a wizard entirely, however, has never been accomplished. You see, magic is in the wizard...to pull it out entirely, well, one wouldn't 'take the light out of a candle', would one?" He paused for a moment, gazing at Harry and Ron. Harry felt that Professor Dumbledore had more or less totally failed to answer the question, so far. He remained silent, and, as an afterthought, attempted an Occlumency exercise to clear his mind, starting with football and leading up to nothing but grey thoughts.

_Just in case_, Harry thought vaguely, beneath the ocean of worthless ideas, remembering all of the times Dumbledore seemed to read his mind. The Headmaster continued.

"There was an idea proposed in some circles that would address this question..._Ex Nihlo_." Harry and Ron were both leaning forward in their chairs. "Of course, certain factions were opposed...The Ex Nihlo project was entirely the opposite of what they had practiced for ages...something one of our founders held dear; A group of several of the age's best wizards came together with the ultimate goal of creating a Wizard out of a Muggle."

"That's insane!" Ron blurted out. "Who'd possibly think that finding a way to _make_ a wizard of a Muggle would help us get along when Wizards hate Muggles? That's like…finding a better killing curse to show that killing is wrong!"

"Obviously, at the time, we thought otherwise. The Muggles had come to similar conclusions in their world, and in the span of sixty years, they created two devastating new ways of killing each other, reasoning that it would now be so easy to slaughter themselves _en masse_ that no one would be foolish enough to attempt it any more. Of course, neither we nor they were correct, and in the end, most of us felt as you do. Still, to a group of revolutionary and forward-thinking witches and wizards, the existence of opposition is a good indicator that we were on the right path."

"Obviously the project failed, right?" Ron said. "I mean, if you could just turn a Muggle into a Wizard, wouldn't someone have done it?"

"Yes and no, Mister Weasley. We have known for quite a while that Muggles posess some latent power."

"They set off wards," Harry muttered. "We learned that in Defence."

Dumbledore nodded. "Very keen, Harry. We were able to properly replicate the procedure, though not consistently and not without…unpleasantries…and apparently, someone _has_ done it."

"Consistently?" Harry asked.

"Unpleasantries?" Ron gulped.

"The first procedure was tested on ten Muggle volunteers. It was successful twice. Even when it worked, it was extremely painful." Dumbledore paused, and looked to his fingertips. "If there was a stronger word, I would use it. Both volunteers were very nearly mad by the time it was over, and it took them some time to master even the simplest of spells."

"You actually _did it_?" Ron gasped, leaning forward in his chair with a horrified look on his face.

"We did. The products of the first procedure were attenuated to magic enough so that they could perform many first year spells, given the proper time. Finding them wands was a bit difficult…yes…but Mister Ollivander was ceaseless in his research, as were we all. You tend to give more of yourself if you truly believe you're accomplishing something great."

"Wait," Harry said. "You said 'the first procedure.' Was there another?"

"There was one other, and three more planned, but not executed. We ended the program early when we discovered certain irregularities."

"And what were those?" Ron asked. Dumbledore paused as if he hadn't decided how much to divulge.

"Some of the advanced plans included…features, for lack of a better word, that had no place in the presumed scope of the project."

"Features? Like what? What were they doing?"

"Resistance to magical spells. Amplification of select spells. Even the ability to perform wand-less magic, although not in the true sense of the word. This is the first I've heard of a resistance to tracking. I must say, part of me is quite curious to learn how they managed that."

"And you didn't know this from the beginning?" Harry said incredulously.

"You must understand, Harry, that our roles were rather compartmentalized. At the time, I was known as something of a specialist on transfiguration and alchemy. Thus, my parts in the project were fairly narrowly defined. It was not uncommon for me to produce a given result without ever actually knowing what it was for."

"You had an awful lot of trust in them then?" Ron said, leaning his hands on the Headmaster's desk as he attempted to soak up more and more of the story.

"It was, as some would say, still is in my nature to be trusting, even unto my detriment. Also, many of the aspects were concealed by false pretenses, which made perfect sense, until one had a holistic view of the project. A certain resistance to magic, for example, actually was necessary to protect the Muggle from the raw magical energy surrounding him or her during the early stages of the procedure. It never occurred to us until after the facts had come to light that we could have simply used magical paraphernalia to the same end. Part of that could be attributed simply to ah...blind spots, and compartmentalization, but as I have mentioned, we later discovered a good deal of it was intentional."

"So what did they get out of you?" Harry was starting to get a bad feeling.

"I will answer that, Harry, but know that I have suffered over the knowledge of my involvement ever since, and that I am ashamed that I didn't recognize the ruse at the time. Please understand that it is one of the very few moments in my life where I feel genuine regret for my actions.

"I received a letter one day from a very close acquaintance: a witch I'd known and trusted for many years. She expressed concern over the stability of the Muggles' bodies based on the amount and types of magic that we had imbued them with, and wondered if perhaps it could break down the body's inherent cohesiveness...in other words, if it would lead to an inadvertent manifestation of metamorphagus or animagus abilities. As you are aware, magic gone awry can have odd effects on the body. I promptly replied that, based on my calculations and what I knew of the procedures, there was no reasonable risk of that happening, and then to assuage her apparent concern, I listed some of the conditions that could resolve themselves into instability later on in the procedure.

"She replied with a letter including steps she believed would be involved in the latter phases of the project, and asked me to comment upon any which could cause such a risk, and just as she'd planned, I gave her all of the information she needed to ensure that their creations would have one of those abilities. It was due only to luck that the steps to provide an Ex Nihlo wizard animagus abilities were slightly less complicated than those used to produce a metamorphagus, although the chances of an inadvertent infusion of such abilities actually favored the traits of the metamorphagus."

"So you _gave_ them a way to create wizards, and not only wizards, _animagi_?"

"As I said, Harry, I'm not proud of the fact that my confidence and abilities were abused. Even though I later learned that she wasn't entirely knowledgeable of what she was doing herself, there had arisen such a great rift that it was virtually irreparable. To this day, her daughter does not know of her duplicity, and if she did I'm afraid that I would lose one of my dearest and most loyal of friends."

"So then the real question is who picked this thing up after you and your friends quit, isn't it?" Ron asked. He seemed to have grasped the situation, and was now becoming curious.

"Mister Colier indicated that he didn't know those responsible," Dumbledore replied.

"Do you think it's the same people you were involved with?" Ron replied.

"I wouldn't hazard a guess, Ronald. On the one hand, they obviously know many of the procedural steps and processes we worked so hard on cataloguing. On the other, we never discovered who, if any one single person was behind it all the first go-round."

"So do you think it's Lord Voldemort, then?" Ron asked, posing the question that Harry was wondering himself.

"No, Mister Weasley. Most European wizards don't like to spend time in America. They find Americans, Muggles and Wizards alike, a bit too vulgar and-how should I say...coarse?-for their tastes. Consider how Wizards here view blood and family lines, and then consider that on a whole, the Americas have less than a four-hundred year modern history. It is unlikely that those who place such a value on pure blood will find many allies and pleasant conversation there.

"Furthermore, Voldemort hates Muggles, squibs, half-bloods, and in general, everything that program stood for. I'm quite certain he wouldn't deign to that level simply to produce what are essentially magical Muggles. It is possible Ronald, but I highly doubt it."

"I saw Connor in the forest talking to another wizard," Harry said, relishing the look of surprise on Dumbledore's face. Some times it was nice to see he didn't know everything. "One that was a giant cat when I saw him. I'd call that a big deal; even it's not Voldemort."

"There are beasts that have not been seen in hundreds of years that roam our forests, Harry. That is but one reason it is forbidden."

"So it's just a coincidence that one is after Colier then?"

"Perhaps he feels a kinship with some of them. Professor Hagrid has befriended many...beings of questionable intent, as I believe you know." Ron shifted and blanched a little. He was probably remembering Aragog and the cave full of giant spiders, which had scared him half to death.

"Connor told me it was the one who already killed this Lyall person."

Dumbledore pursed his lips and paused as mysterious devices arrayed on the tables around him whirred, ticked, or even talked to themselves. The pictures of the previous head masters were silent, but most seemed to be paying keen attention. Finally, Dumbledore took a deep breath. "This is very distressing news. I allowed Mister Colier to attend Hogwarts because I felt at some level responsible for what had happened to him. If another Ex Nihlo wizard is prowling the country-side, it could put students at risk." Dumbledore took a deep breath and tapped his desktop for a few moments. "Gentlemen, I'm afraid I will need some time to consider the particulars of this situation. I ask that you continue to offer your support to Mister Colier, and that you keep our discussion private."

"That's it then?" Harry asked incredulously. Professor Dumbledore paused and looked at Harry with a heavy air of authority.

"That's not it. If I feel students at Hogwarts are in jeopardy, I may have to expel him. If that happens, is very likely that I will be sending him to his death. That is a decision I do not take lightly." The Headmaster leaned over his desk and hastily scribbled a note on a scrap of parchment. "You may give this to Mister Colier. It simply informs him that you are entrusted with the knowledge of his...situation, and that you have my full confidence. Accordingly, he will find that he can discuss it with you freely. I imagine that will ease his mind...it has been a heavy burden." He handed the note to Harry, who stuffed it in his pocket as he arose.

"Thank-you," Harry said, turning to go.

"Harry."

Harry paused and turned, with Ron on his heels.

"I have told you far more than you needed to know so that you can help me. If you see anything, _anything at all_ which you feel is noteworthy, I expect you to inform me directly. You have several means at your disposal."

"I will, Headmaster."

Harry spent all of the rest of Sunday and all of the following Monday trying to sort through the whole Connor situation. So far, Voldemort had been almost non-existent this year, and he still felt as though he hadn't a moment's rest. He was frankly at a loss as to how everything that had happened so far fit together. Walken was always going off about everything being connected. Harry was seriously considering creating another causality cloak just so he could try to come to grips with everything.

By Tuesday night, he was resting in bed, idly playing with the Chansonarc, and watching his tiny flame dancing in its bottle. The Marauder's Map was laying open beside him, and at times he'd glance at it. Walken was just walking into McGonagall's office, and the rest of the castle seemed inordinately quiet. The students were apparently taking a night off; the hallways were clear and even the astronomy tower was empty.

Harry found that he wasn't bad at the Chansonarc, though he didn't think he'd ever master it. He was trying to decide whether to entertain dreams about becoming a famous musician, but he was leaning towards the life on anonymity...he could still impress birds without being famous. Movement on the map drew his attention. Harry glanced down.

A dot marked PETER PETTIGREW was in the hallway leading to Professor Walkin's office.


	29. Chapter 29 A Rat in the House

**[author's note] **normally I'd post this on the weekend, but I will be out of town this weekend, so Thursday will have to do. We're getting close to the end. No one is more relieved than me. **[/author's note]**

**Chapter 29 - A Rat in the House**

Harry immediately leaned forward, peering at the map. Walken and McGonagall were in the hallway outside the room, and Harry could imagine Wormtail watching them from the shadows as a rat; his beady eyes gleaming. Harry scrambled to his feet, dropping the Chansonarc and bottle of blue flames. Neville was sitting on the corner of his bed, talking to Connor, who hadn't vanished from the map in the last two days. They both looked up as he shot from his bed, fumbling with things on his bureau.

"Harry?" Neville was watching him curiously.

"Pettigrew. He's here."

"Who?"

"Wormtail. Death Eater. Brought Voldemort back. Killed my father." He hesitated for a moment, then stuck his mother's wand in his watch band. Both Connor and Neville rose as one.

"Was he in the DOM?" Neville asked.

Harry nodded as he tapped the corner of the mirror and muttered. Then he looked up.

"Fat bloke. Blond hair. Silver hand."

At that Neville grabbed his wand. "We're with you, Harry," he said, pulling on his shoes. Connor nodded. Harry's mind was moving a mile a minute. He wanted to capture Wormtail as much as anything. He wanted to interrogate him. He wanted to find some things out. He glanced at the map. Ron and Hermione were still in a Prefect's meeting near the Ravenclaw tower. A plan was beginning to form in his head.

"Alright. Come with me then. Connor..." Harry paused. He was going to tell Connor to stay here, but really, most of the misgivings he'd actually had about the American had been quite adequately explained by Dumbledore. It seemed he really _was_ made to be sneaky, and he probably _couldn't _help it. That might come in handy tonight, since Conner couldn't fit under the invisibility cloak. "Do you think you can get to the temporalism room without anyone seeing you?"

"Temporalism?"

"Where some of your apparation lessons are." Conner nodded and started to go. Harry stopped him. "Look, don't go in. Stay outside the classroom and keep an eye out for anything." He paused. "Can you catch a rat?"

Connor often smirked, but he seldom actually smiled like he was now. "D'you think so?" Harry nodded.

Neville pulled on a bandolier of potions very much like Connor's. "Don't worry Harry, well get him."

He looked at the mirror in his hands. Where was Lupin? Where was Dumbledore? Connor had already fled, and Harry could no longer see him on the map. He and Neville flew down the stairs and through the common room. A few students tried to talk to them but they brushed them off.

Harry could see the map in the intermittent light of the hallway...there was no one near him. He still flipped the invisibility cloak over Neville. Walken and McGonagall had moved to her classroom, but Wormtail was still in the Temporalism office. He was moving along the back, like he was pacing. A moment later, Connor briefly reappeared in the room across from Walken's classroom, and then disappeared again. In his mind, Harry saw Connor the catamount considering how to deal with the doorknob, and then transfigure briefly to open the door with far more suitable human hands, step into the darkness, and return to life as something rather more suited to rodent-hunting.

Behind him, he could occasionally hear Neville scraping the floor. The time where more than one person could hide under the cloak comfortably was long gone. He'd be willing to give it a go with a pretty girl, but that was a different situation entirely.

On the map, PETTER PETTIGREW was still pacing in Walken's office. Harry was beginning to wonder exactly what was going on. He briefly scanned the map; there was no-one between him and the Temporalism classroom. Harry and Neville ran through the hallways until Harry stopped so short that Neville ran into him from behind.

"What is it, Harry?" Neville whispered from behind the cloak.

Harry pointed down the last hallway they had to traverse before they could confront and capture Wormtail. Neville pulled the cloak over his head with a thoughtful "Oh."

"Yeah," Harry said.

In front of them, Peeves was sitting upside-down on the ceiling in the middle of the hallway. He was holding a stout candle in one hand and writing profane words with candle wax with the other. He was muttering nonsense to himself.

"Isn't there a _u_ in that?" Neville mused.

"Never mind that," Harry said. "How do we get him out of there? There isn't another way to the classroom. It's right around the corner."

"We can wait," Neville said hopefully. "I'm sure he'll go away."

"We can't wait," Harry insisted. "Wormtail's looking for something. When he finds it, he'll vanish. He's done it before."

"What if I go back down the hall and create a diversion? I reckon he'd come to see what happened."

Harry had considered that, but he knew from experience what would happen if he tried that.

"We can't do that, either. If Wormtail hears anything we'll never catch him."

Neville thought about this a moment. There was a shuffling as he reached under the cloak and fished something out. It was a bottle from his bandolier of potions. Harry took it and examined it in the dim light. The light from Peeves' candle didn't reach even half way to them. He still knew what this particular bottle held.

"How will this help with Peeves? Will it make me invisible to him?" He liked how the potion swirled in the bottle; as if it was vaguely shiny smoke.

"It's got the repellent mixed in; we've used that before, remember? The party? Snape made me put it in the ghost potion. He'll just...go away."

"Are you sure? It'll make _me_ a ghost, wont it?"

"Yeah," Neville admitted. "You'll let me know what it's like?"

"You haven't tried it?"

Neville shook his head. Harry stared at the bottle again. He didn't fancy being a guinea pig, but he really had to catch Wormtail. He pulled the stopper from the bottle and drained it before he could reconsider. The world brightened...all the blacks turned to white and the whites turned to black. The ball of light that surrounded Peeves was black, and the formerly dim hallway was dazzling. Harry looked down at his hands. All the creases in his hands were white, and the skin was a deep blue. He looked back to Peeves, who had ceased writing and was now glancing around. After a moment, he drifted, first towards Harry, and then he suddenly stopped and sunk slowly through the floor. Harry walked slowly forward. He paused before he turned the corner where Connor and Wormtail were waiting. He had a very strange idea forming in his mind.

"How much time do I have?" Harry turned to where he thought Neville was.

"I don't know. Ten minutes?"

"The mirror I gave you to carry...someone may show up on it. If they do, tell them Pettigrew is in the Temporalism classroom." Neville nodded. Harry looked at the corner. "Can you stand here in case Wormtail makes it past Connor?" Neville nodded again. "Okay...hit me."

"With my fist?"

Harry leveled his wand and used the same marking spell they used to practice in DA. He produced several ghostly bolts of light that all seemed to pass harmlessly through Neville and, with a tiny spreading splotch, the wall behind him as well. After a moment of gawking, Neville fired a few balls of paint at him as well, which passed through him harmlessly and struck the wall behind him.

"Right," Harry said. "No spells going out, no spells coming in." He took one step and looked back. "I'm going to vanish, but it's okay. It's something I learned in this class," Harry nodded at his friend. He looked at him more carefully. When had Neville gotten so tall? Harry was beginning to feel he really needed to pay better attention to the obvious things. He walked around the corner and paused again.

The step was one spell in Temporalism that most of the students could handle. Professor Walken had an explanation for that which was mostly unsatisfying, as well as boring and unintelligible (at least to Harry), but the point was most of them could do it. Harry had never seen a ghost simply vanish before...all the Hogwarts ghosts glided -sometimes very quickly- but in stories he had heard, ghosts appeared and disappeared all the time. Besides, everyone knew apparating didn't work in the castle, and that included Wormtail.

When performing the Spatium Tornare-the step-one got the sensation that their legs were impossibly long; that they were traveling further with one step than could be reasonably believed, because of course, they were. So it was that Harry found himself a ghost, stepping through the door of a classroom, about to confront the man who had helped kill his parents.

Perhaps Wormtail saw movement from the corner of his eyes. Perhaps he just possessed very good instincts, honed by years of being prey. Either way he tucked what he was holding in his inside pocket and pulled a wand, firing curses the moment it was clear of his robe. Harry could have blocked them easily, but he rather preferred the effect of letting them pass through him. He heard things breaking behind him but he didn't want to look away.

Wormtail's mouth worked but it was a while before anything came out.

"J-James?"

"I'm very disappointed in you, Wormtail," Harry replied. His voice sounded funny, even to him.

"James..."

"James what? James I didn't mean to get you and Lilly killed? James I'm sorry Harry's an orphan now?"

Wormtail was shaking his head. "I never meant for any of that to happen!"

Harry tilted his head. "What did you expect? You sold us out to Voldemort. Did you expect the dark lord to pop by for tea and cakes?"

"What do you want?" Wormtail moaned.

"Who says I want anything?" Harry paused as Wormtail stared at him. "Lilly asked me to show you this." He pulled her wand from his sleeve. Harry had noticed that many wizards and witches, Ron for example, had the nearly uncanny ability to recognize a wand on sight. From the way Wormtail reacted, he recognized the wand.

"Is Lilly coming?"

"She doesn't want to see you, Wormtail. I have to admit that honestly, you did fool me, for a long time. Very impressive. Lilly; however..." Harry shrugged. "Well, she knew you were rotten all along, and she believed you. You made her feel responsible for our deaths, Wormtail. Bravo. Really." Wormtail cringed. "You won't like being dead, Wormtail. You know what they say? Well it's true. Dead men tell no lies. So when I see you again, and I will, I'll finally get the truth."

"So...so that means you can't lie?" Wormtail showed a flash of courage then. "Then why were you so mean to me?"

Harry was stunned. He forgot to answer as James and said the first thing that came to his mind. "Did you ever say anything about it?"

"Well, no," Wormtail admitted. "You had to know! If you'd have been kinder, Prongs...just a little kinder...I don't know if that would have changed anything, but..." He shook his head sadly.

Harry did not like this new revelation at all. He stared at the floor. He now had an answer. "Sometimes, we don't know people as well as we should, Wormtail." Then he looked up. "Were you bad from the beginning, then? From that time in the tower?"

"How do you know..."

"Come on, Wormtail," said Harry, in an exasperated voice. "I'm dead. You learn all sorts of things, after you're dead."

For a long time, Peter didn't answer. Then he slowly shook his head. "I never meant to betray you. It was...just a moment, that's all it was. And after that I knew there was no going back, not ever. And with all of you gone, it's like...I'm dead already." He shook his head again. "I'm just waiting for my body to catch up."

"So you meant what you said to my-" Harry stopped himself in time. "My Lilly."

"Every word, Prongs. Is Padfoot there? Is Lilly?"

"They're all here, Wormtail."

"Tell them..." Wormtail stopped. "There's nothing you can tell them, is there?" Harry shook his head. "Tell them I'll see them soon, then, and when I can only tell the truth, maybe you'll all believe me. That I'm sorry."

Harry felt miserable. He wanted to hate Wormtail. He wanted to believe that he was a sniveling rat who had betrayed his parents and helped Voldemort willingly, because it was somehow easier. He wanted to believe that everyone who had told him that his father could be wearisome was wrong, that James and Sirius were kind, noble people. He wanted an easy explanation to what he had seen...all the memories that had made it to him.

What it seemed is that James Potter may have been a good man who did bad things, just like everyone else. Harry didn't know exactly what he felt about Wormtail now, but he knew that it involved pity, and he knew that if he was able to hate Pettigrew completely, pity wouldn't factor into it. He wasn't sure what to say next. Wormtail was staring at the ground.

"There is no going back, Wormtail; but someday the chance will come, and you'll know why you were sorted into Gryffindor, with me and Sirus and Lilly; your _real_ friends."

Pettigrew was watching him with a look that might even have been hope. Harry was faced with a new problem. He had never arranged ahead of time how to signal Neville and Connor, and his spells would pass harmlessly through Wormtail, so there was no way to capture him. Wormtail glanced up just as the door behind Harry burst open and a streak of brown shot through the room.

Wormtail transfigured without hesitation. He wheeled and dashed; it was surprisingly swift. Connor overshot him, though he did manage to reach down and slap at Wormtail. If he was a smaller cat, Harry thought Connor might have actually caught Wormtail. His paws were so big he actually scooped up the rat and tossed him through the air like a golf ball from a shovel. Harry watched Wormtail spin and flop down on top of a cabinet in the back if the room. Connor landed and skidded until he slammed into the back wall, where his feet scrambled on the stone floor. He finally got re-oriented and leapt to the top of the shelf.

Perhaps some cats were graceful. Perhaps they could dance over the shelves without knocking anything to the ground or even moving anything out of place. Connor was no such cat. In fact, he knocked everything in his path to the ground. Sheets of paper fluttered lazily through the air, and important looking things crunched, crashed, and clanged. Behind him, the shelves and cabinet tops were clear, holding only scattered litter. Connor growled, only it wasn't like any growl Harry had ever heard; it was a shriek, almost a scream. The blood in Harry's veins stopped, and he even saw Wormtail freeze momentarily. Connor was still fumbling along the cabinets in the back. Wormtail vanished from sight, and Harry saw another flash, this one white and grey and gold. It was Minerva McGonagall, and she had lept up to the other side of the cabinetry. Wormtail now had cats in both directions. He still wasn't done yet, though. He could thread through the menagerie on the shelving with relative ease.

"What in the name-" Harry turned to see Walken, wand in hand, watching the pandemonium. Neville was behind him. He was still holding the mirror, and he had his wand held uncertainly in one hand.

"Dumbledore showed up in your mirror. He's on his way." Harry glided behind his friend. In front of them, Connor and McGonagall were still upon the furniture in the back of the room. McGonagall was delicately shifting things to the side, while Conner was kneeling; waiting, Harry assumed, to catch a glimpse of rodent. Walken was pleading with them not to break anything more, while Neville remained back, wand half-raised, waiting for a clear shot on Wormtail.

"The map," Harry whispered.

Neville glanced at him, then pulled the Map out from under the invisibility cloak. Wormtail was gone, now a floor below them. Harry and Neville glanced at each other. "Professor...he's gone!" When no one reacted, Neville shouted again. McGonagall and Connor were still on the cabinetry in the back, Walken was _still_ shouting, and from out of nowhere, Dumbledore was standing at Harry's side. Neville dropped his hand, letting the cloak fall over the map. The headmaster didn't seem interested in it anyway.

"Mister Longbottom." He nodded at Neville, ignoring the fact that Neville was wrapped in Harry's invisibility cloak. After a brief glance in the room, he turned to Harry. After looking him up and down, he poked at him experimentally with one long finger, which passed lazily through and touched Neville's invisible shoulder. He grinned with amusement. "How fascinating!" He again nodded. "Harry." He examined the improbable scene in the room, then cleared his throat, which was impressively loud but nonetheless worthless. After another moment of waiting for the cacophony to stop, Dumbledore raised his arms. "Enough!"

His voice boomed, echoing off, or perhaps emanating from the walls, ceiling, and floor. Everything in the room acted as a sounding board, even the things which could not or should not make any noise, whatsoever. All motion in the room stopped. Walken stopped in mid-sentence, his black wand hanging forgotten at his side. Connor looked up slowly, while McGonagall leapt lightly to the ground with a sour look on her face. Almost immediately upon landing, she returned to her normal form.

Dumbledore closed his eyes, took several deep breaths, and extended splayed fingers, as if smelling the air. He wandered through the room, moving haphazardly around tables and chairs. Harry had the sensation that he might be feeling for something in the air. His wand was very steady. After some tense moments during which no one spoke, Dumbledore finally stopped in the middle of the room. "If Mister Pettigrew was here, he is here no longer."

Professor McGonagall ran her fingers through her hair. She looked old, Harry thought, but not 'normal' old. Perhaps Walken's last time reversal spell hadn't worn totally off, yet. Connor leapt to the floor as well, after sniffing disgustedly at the last place Wormtail had been. He paced the room a few times in his loping stride, then shifted in mid stride. His unfashionable, oversized robes billowed around him.

"We almost had that..." McGonagall trailed off.

"Who?" Walken was watching them all, while waving his wand gently. A number of things that had been knocked to the floor gradually righted themselves, restacked themselves, and repaired themselves. Harry had slowly backed to the door.

He leaned back towards Neville. "The map," he whispered.

Neville shrugged off the cloak. He stood in between Harry and the temporalism room, and unfolded the map. PETER PETTIGREW was in a familiar hallway.

"I know where he's going," Harry announced. Conversation, which had started again in earnest, ceased as all eyes in the room turned to him. The world flashed in an enthralling show of light as the potion finally wore off. Harry didn't realize he was levitating until he fell to the ground. He still landed on his feet, but it was ugly. Harry ran down the hall, and the others followed.

He took the steps two at a time, paying special attention to the trick ones. He could hear the others running behind him. Connor was on one side and Neville the other. They twisted and turned, and wound their way through the halls of Hogwarts, until at long last, they were at the stairs to the same tower where Wormtail sold out his father. Connor shifted without stopping and darted up the stairs. Harry tried to follow on his heals but the big cat was far too quick to stay close. By the time he got into the room at the top, Wormtail was just squeezing through the trapdoor at the top of the levitated rope. Connor leapt, which took him at least half-way to the ceiling. He shifted at the top of his leap and grabbed the knotted line, the muscles in his forearms rippling. He jerked on the rope savagely, and grabbed Wormtail's ankle. Pettigrew shrieked; Harry could hear it even though almost all of Wormtail's body was on the roof. He transfigured into a rat again and dangled from the rectangular opening, where he was silhouetted in the silvery moonlight for a brief moment. Connor nearly fell off the rope...he dangled by one arm, the veins in his arm standing out proudly. Wormtail scrambled through the trap door and out of sight, and Connor managed to get his other hand on the rope and pull himself over the top with brute strength. Wormtail was out of sight, but Harry knew what he did next when the rope dropped to the ground. Harry had time to think that there was no way on Earth that he was falling again. He had time to notice Connor's feet slide through the trapdoor at the top and wonder if hitting the ground would hurt when he suddenly began to float upward to the hole in the roof. When he could reach it, he grabbed the frame and struggled through. Connor was at the edge of the tower, looking out over the edge. He had his wand out and was firing curses into the night. They didn't look exactly right. He spoke to Harry without looking.

"He hopped a ride. Some kind of invisible bird. I can hardly see him."

Harry could see him, in fact; a small splotch in the starlight, bobbing through the air. Harry took careful aim and fired off three curses in rapid succession. Wormtail glowed softly and went limp, but still faded away as the unseen bird rapidly faded out of sight. Harry cursed.

"You hit him!" Connor said.

"I wasn't aiming for him. I was trying to hit the bloody bird. What good did stunning him do?"

"That's what you did? I'd have just blasted him."

Harry glared. "That's because you're a bloody Yankee cowboy." Harry was actually glad Connor hadn't gotten a hold of Wormtail if he was just going to kill him. Still..."Hey, Yank," he said, as Connor turned back to the trap door. Connor looked back. "Thanks."

Connor's lips actually twitched. "May as well put my super powers to good use. You know, occasionally."

They looked through the hole in the roof as one. Connor simply leapt through. He passed the top as a human. He hit the ground as a cat. Harry thought about taking a cue from Connor and flying down as a bird, but he wasn't sure how long he could stay a bird, or even if he could become one. He was spared the decision when Walken simply waved a hand for him to jump.

"Come on, Potter." Harry hesitated. "I've got you. Leave the rope, Longbottom." Neville looked up from where he had been toying with the rope. Harry never actually jumped. He was simply levitated over the opening and drifted slowly down to the ground. "I got you going up, Potter; I can get you coming down." So it was Walken who had saved him from a nasty fall. Walken set him gently down. "Who was that...rodent...and what was he doing in my room? Why were we chasing him?"

Thumping on the stairs announced the arrival of Dumbledore and McGonagall. Harry wandered over to where the stag had been burned into the wall by Wormtail the night he had met with the future Death Eaters. He stroked it gently. "He was my parents' friend, until he made a bad decision."

"Must have been some decision," Walken mused.

"Did he get away again?" McGonagall puffed. "Merlin's beard, that man is slippery!"

"Am I to understand that was Peter Pettigrew?" Dumbledore asked.

"Yes," Harry, Neville, and McGonagall said at once.

Walken shrugged. "I assume so."

Dumbledore looked around the tower. "It's been a while since I was up here. I believe this tower was intended to be used for hitching one's dragon. As you can see; the tethering of dragons is not in particularly high demand, in this day and age."

"Peter Pettigrew found it useful enough," Professor McGonagall remarked.

"Indeed," Dumbledore mused. "How did he..."

"A bird," Harry said. "Like the one I hit."

"It was waiting on the roof," Connor added. "He hit the roof, ratted up, and hitched a ride."

Dumbledore nodded. "Clever." He stroked his beard. "There are not many ways in or out of this castle. That's...a resourceful way around the limitations."

"I hit him with a stunning curse," Harry said. "I was aiming for the bird."

"We know he was here," Dumbledore said. "Ambrose, do you have anything that would be of interest to Voldemort?"

Professor Walken was looking out the window. He glanced back at Dumbledore and screwed up his face. "I don't reckon what it could be, Albus. I haven't even been in the country for years."

"Perhaps you should examine your room. I don't think Mister Pettigrew was re-visiting for the old memories." He turned to Harry. "Perhaps the students among us should make their way...unobtrusively back. If they think they can. Provided their head of house is willing to accept that, of course. Far be it for me to...assume her authority."

As one, Harry, Connor, and Neville turned to Professor McGonagall. It was obvious that she was suffering from some internal conflict.

"Get back to your common room. Tell no-one, of this. Since I know you'll tell Weasley and Granger anyway, tell _them_ that it is absolutely imperative to keep this silent. And if you get caught _making your way_ _back_ to your common room, well gentlemen, for your sake I hope you are capable of remaining unobtrusive for a few more minutes."

Harry nodded. Neville pulled the invisibility cloak over his shoulders and Dumbledore muttered something. A cold feeling spread through Harry, radiating from between his shoulders and spreading throughout his body. He looked at his hands, which even to him were amazingly _dim_. He glanced at Dumbledore, who was holding his wand lightly and smiling a crooked smile. Connor walked on ahead of them, and Harry knew that the moment he was out of site, in his place would be a catamount,  
un-trackable by wards or special maps, and nearly invisible. Neville pulled the cloak over his head and started down the stairs. He turned back to Harry and paused.

"You coming, Harry?"

"In a second. I have to talk to the headmaster. I'll only be a moment."

Neville nodded, and started down the stairs. McGonagall and Walken were standing with their heads together near the window. The starlight made her grey hair seem white and her black hair blacker.

He turned to Dumbledore. "I talked to Pettigrew." Dumbledore nodded and waited for him to continue. The urge to say something was maddening; he really had to perfect that trick. "I had taken the potion...the one that made me a ghost."

"Ahh...that was a marvelous potion indeed. I've ever seen anything quite like it, and I've seen a good many potions. Tell me, wouldn't it have been easier to capture him and then ask questions?"

"That was my plan," Harry admitted. "But...I had to use the potion. Anyway...he sort of thinks he talked to James Potter's ghost."

"Ah." Dumbledore nodded. After a while he nodded. "It is a rule as old as adversity itself. Make the best of a bad situation. Still, there are worse ideas than to remind him of his ties to you."

Harry turned to go, then looked back. Something had occurred to him. "Sir...when you first saw me, had the potion started to wear off?"

"I don't believe so, Mister Potter."

"Did I look like my father?"

"The very image. Even more so, without Lilly's eyes to give you away."

"Then...how did you know? I mean...you knew me right away."

"Ah!" Dumbledore clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Well, James was many things. Talented, handsome, competent..._overa_ll an estimable human being...but never once did he bear such stylish footwear."


	30. Chapter 30 The Beginning of the End

**[AN] Thanks for reviewing, honestly. I have admitted to myself that I have to finish this regardless...it's a casualty of my personality, but reviews really do make me feel like I haven't wasted my time.**

**I am guessing that this book will be no more than 35 chapters, and I have until 33 and the last half of the last chapter written down fairly completely, so I can honestly say that I am fully expecting to be finished by Christmas. That makes the title of this chapter fairly apt.**

**Also, my ever-patient beta has been tied up with her own life. This chapter is only betad by me. When she gets a chance to change it, I'll repost it. [/AN]**

**Chapter 30 - The Beginning of the End**

"I wish I could have slipped him my potion, instead of drinking Neville's. We'd have him. I should have told McGonagall. I should have waited for Dumbledore."

"You're beating yourself up, mate." Ron punched him. "We were all gone. You had to make do with Neville and Connor. It's a flipping miracle you got as close as you did. Besides, I thought your potion wasn't done yet."

"It isn't, but it would have worked for a bit." Harry glanced around. Neville and Connor were not in the room. "And they did great," Harry insisted. "I wouldn't have even seen him without them."

Ron raised his eyebrows but didn't say anything further.

In potions, Harry once again had to try his potion. It had finished curing for the second time and it was again ready to compare to the juice of a ripe pomegranate. Harry uncorked the phial apprehensively. He wasn't alone...most of the class had failed to produce a worthwhile potion, or simply had one that wasn't ready yet. At least one or two people every class had to sample their potion. Just the other day, Ernie MacMillan had produced copious amounts of violet steam from his ears and nose and a smell Harry fervently hoped was truly unique.

Harry touched the potion to his lips and took a sip. It must have done something, because immediately his head felt cool. He felt relaxed and calm. In fact, he felt wonderful.

The potion did not taste anything like the juice of a ripe pomegranate, however. Harry was already planning on acting as though it did, but Snape glared at him and he knew that it would be pointless to try. Somehow, the great, creeping, shadowy git could tell.

He shook his head with a dour scowl. "Twelve inches. Your next failure will be your _last _failure, Potter."

Harry knew enough to keep his mouth shut. It had only taken six years to reason out that Snape wanted him to respond. He was not about to give Snape _anything_ he wanted.

Neville was next. Harry knew his potion worked. Neville knew it worked. Connor knew. Snape had to be fairly certain; he had followed every step of the way. Still, Harry got the feeling that most people were waiting for him to fail, even hoping for it. This was in spite of the fact that he had out-performed some students in the room, Harry included.

Neville raised the small bottle with the hint of a smile on his face. The room, normally held silent in deference to Snape, was today hostage to Neville Longbottom. He tilted the bottle, and the smoke inside rolled out and down his throat. Gradually, he became more and more translucent. Harry hadn't seen it from this end. It was far more interesting to drink it than to watch Neville do it. Connor nodded with a grin, and most of the other non-Slytherin students applauded with what sounded to be real enthusiasm.

Snape remained silent for several moments. When it became obvious that Neville's potion was not a failure, he grinned evilly. Harry didn't like it one bit. "Very well Longbottom. Five points to Gryffindor."

There was a strained silence in the dungeon. Snape had awarded points to Gryffindor? And not just any Gryffindor, perhaps Hermione, who really was one of his top students, but _Neville Longbottom_, who hadn't even started the year in his class? Harry glanced around. Connor's mouth was hanging open in stunned disbelief, and from the looks of it, he wasn't the only one. Even Malfoy looked unpleasantly shocked.

"As you were, Longbottom." Neville turned to glide back to his seat. "Longbottom!" Snape barked. Neville paused and turned. "I said...as you were." Neville continued to stare. "Perhaps that was conveyed as a suggestion. It assuredly was not. As. You. Were."

"Y...you want me to change back?"

"Was I that obvious, Longbottom?" Blaise and Draco were laughing softly from the back.

"It will only last a few minutes."

"And you know this with certainty...how?" Harry knew how. Neville had been a first-hand witness to the potion. "I certainly hope you aren't going to tell me you tried this potion without...competent supervision?" Neville shook his head. Harry knew if Neville had any color, he'd be red by now. "Then perhaps you gave some to a test subject?"

"N-no, sir."

"Then in typical Gryffindor fashion you have bravely chosen to test the potion on yourself, without knowing how long it would last, or indeed, even if it is permanent?"

"Please, Professor," said Hermione. "Can't he just wait a few moments? It wouldn't be-"

"Ten points from Gryffindor," Snape pronounced. He coolly leaned back in his chair.

"But-" Hermione started.

Snape didn't let her finish. "In your _vast_ experience, surely you know that _if_ this effect is enduring, every moment is one _I_ will need to attempt to counter it."

"Well," drawled Malfoy lazily. "You can hardly expect Granger to know that. Her parents are Muggles! I'm amazed she can mix tea, really. It's a wonder she's kept up so far, but it's not her fault. Perhaps Longbottom has been helping _her_ all along." Blaze Zabini laughed, but Nott, Harry noticed, did not.

"Professor," Padma Patil said hesitantly. Snape glanced at her as if he really didn't care what she said, which he probably didn't. "Draco got to wait for an entire hour for his potion to wear off."

"_Mister Malfoy_ was using a sanctioned, known formula for a familiar potion. Longbottom is playing with magic he does not comprehend. The least he could have done was research how to halt the effects."

"But-" Hermione started.

"Five points from Gryffindor. _I_ am the professor in this classroom. Since you seem so eager to discuss this, _you_ may do the research. I expect a report on my desk a week from today." Hermione glared a very un-Hermione-like glare, but she didn't speak again. Neville, who had made his way to his seat, was waiting to change back so he could sit down again. He looked utterly discouraged. Snape surveyed the classroom...Blaise and Draco were openly laughing, but no one else wanted to be assigned a report. "Since I am feeling kind today, if this does prove to be permanent, I shall award you five points." Draco and Blaise laughed even harder.

"I hate that man," Neville muttered. Not two minutes later, the potion wore off.

"There goes your chance for five points, Longbottom," Draco said. "That's a real shame. That might have been a new personal record for you."

Harry knew Neville was mad, because he was actually seething. He didn't know how mad until they got into the hall. Generally, Blaise and Nott didn't walk with Draco, and he would be alone unless Crab and Goyle showed up. Today, they were alongside him, and that must have emboldened him. When they were well out of earshot of Snape's dungeon, Draco stopped suddenly. He turned to them, and Harry immediately knew that whatever this was, it would be bad.

"Really Longbottom, how could you not see this coming? I mean, failure runs in your family."

Neville glanced up darkly. "What do you mean by that, exactly?" His tone silenced the hallway. Hermione held her arms out and put one hand one Harry's arm and one on Connor's. For now he decided to let her stop him from cursing Malfoy into jelly.

"Well, they were aurors, weren't they? Bang up job they did. Really-" Malfoy never got a chance to finish, because Neville had pulled his wand and had Draco backed completely against the wall. Draco looked to Nott and Zabini. Zabini had drawn his wand, but Nott only had his half out. "Do you need an invitation?" Draco asked, caustically.

"Convince me," Nott said. Harry had his hand on his wand, but he wanted to see how this played out. His auror texts had mentioned situations like this. They said once you got involved, you owned it. Harry wasn't too keen on owning anything.

Malfoy's mouth moved as though he wanted to talk, but nothing could come out. Neville didn't have that problem. "I'll take my friends over yours, any day." Draco's eyes rolled to Nott.

"That doesn't convince me," he said, dropping his wand in his pocket. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall where he could watch. Blaise looked confused.

Neville smiled slowly. It was spectacularly frightening. "Know what I think runs in your family?" He didn't wait for Draco to answer. "Being a great, bloody rat." He jabbed Malfoy's forehead with each word. Draco's eyes narrowed.

Harry knew what he was going to do well before he did it. He was sure Neville knew it too. Apparently, Connor also knew, because as Malfoy shoved Neville backwards, Connor moved forward. He easily pinned Draco's wand hand with one arm and slammed the other into Draco's throat.

"Put him down!" Hermione said sharply, jabbing Connor in the back with her wand. He ignored her. Draco tried to say something, but all he could manage was a croak.

Harry stepped forward. He didn't want to get physical with Connor. He was pretty sure he could more hold his own in a duel, but in a fist fight, Connor looked as though he could make Dudley cry. He lightly grabbed Conner's arm. He was on the American's right, so it was the one choking Malfoy. He could feel the lump of the scar that ran up the inside of Connor's arm. "Not now, Yank." He wanted to remind Connor what being expelled meant, but he wasn't sure how to word it around others.

Regardless, his plea fell on deaf ears, and Harry was considering threatening him when Blaise moved his hand. Harry managed a fast shielding charm, but it was overkill; Connor must have seen the movement out of the corner of his eye and his left hand shot out. He backhanded Blaise roughly, and the slim Slytherin went down swiftly. Draco triumphantly whipped out his wand, and Neville casually took it. Nott was still leaning against the wall, watching.

"Connor," Neville said, softly. He was smiling. Connor paused long enough to listen. "It's not worth it. Trust me."

"Oh, but it is," Connor said. Malfoy was starting to go funny colors again.

"It's not. He knows he could never beat us in a fair fight so he tries to make us angry enough to do something that will get us in trouble. He's not worth getting in trouble over." That was precisely what Harry had tried, and failed, to come up with.

"I'm not angry," Connor replied pleasantly.

"You need to let him go now," Hermione said. She must have noticed how well being calm was working with Neville, because she sounded as though Connor _wasn't _slowly strangling a student in front of her.

"I'd rather shake him 'till his soul rattles," Connor shot back, just as nonchalantly.

"Don't bother," Neville shrugged, tossing Draco's wand back down the stairs. "He'll get his, soon enough. Besides, I'm not entirely convinced he's got a soul."

Blaze was struggling to his feet. Nott offered him a hand, and he took it. With a brief shrug, Connor released Draco.

"You'll pay for that," Malfoy hissed. Harry thought that rather than trying to sound sinister, his throat was simply too roughed up to talk normally.

"Oh, really?"

"Witnesses!" Malfoy jerked his head back towards Nott and Blaise.

"We have more," Neville replied.

"I'm a prefect."

"Please," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "Only because daddy _bought_ it for you. Nobody likes you, Draco. Anyway, I am too. We've had this discussion, remember?"

"I'd say you should get while the getting's good," Connor smiled. Draco sorted that one out in his head.

"Pathetic," he said, turning away. "And you? What's your excuse?"

Harry couldn't hear what Nott said as the Slytherins walked away, but it sounded like "I don't like you." He smiled to himself.

Connor laughed as the four Gryffindors continued up the corridor. Finally Hermione turned, wound up her hand, and slapped him resoundingly. Natalie abused Connor every day, but Harry had never seen him take anything quite like that from her. He practically felt it.

"If you ever force me into a situation like that again -ever!- I will report you to the headmaster myself. Unlike that pathetic rodent, _I _can prove it."

Connor didn't say anything, but he raised his eyebrows and rubbed his cheek. They walked all the way back to the common room without her saying another word. Just before the portrait of the Fat Lady, Hermione turned to Connor.

"Well, what do you have to say for yourself?"

Connor looked down at her long enough to make her squirm. He was still stroking his red cheek. "Your fingers are numb, aren't they?"

Hermione tried to look furious, but the scowl couldn't quite stay on her lips. It kept falling off. "Totally," she finally replied, shaking her hand. She wasn't smiling, but at least she no longer looked as if she wanted to report them all.

In Defense against the Dark Arts, they were learning the Patronus charm, which Harry had been able to do since his third year. He was able to watch other students and slack off, which he did to the fullest of his abilities. Draco had not skived off this class as he had in the past after a brush with Harry or his friends, but he had changed into a shirt with a high collar. Harry was watching him surreptitiously. He wanted to convince himself that he didn't care, but the truth was just too funny to ignore. Half-way through the class, Ron elbowed Harry in was surely supposed to be an unobtrusive way, but was really about as subtle as a steam-roller.

Draco's patronus was a small, jittery animal...one with a long bald tail and quivering whiskers. Whether Operation Ferret had struck again or this was simply the form his Patronus was destined to take, it was without a doubt hilarious. Malfoy caught them staring at the ghostly rat which, to be fair, didn't look inordinately offensive on its own, if a bit hazy around the edges.

"Do you have something to say, Weasley? Need to borrow mine? Couldn't afford your own?"

"You need new material," Ron said. "That poor bit's getting old. Look on the bright side; if you need a friend to talk it over with..." he waved to the rat. "I hear you might share a special bond."

"I can see the family resemblance," Neville pitched in, and nearly everyone who wasn't a Slytherin laughed.

"All right, all right. Take this seriously, now," Professor Shaklebolt said, yanking them back on track. He didn't play sides, and it was most certainly only his presence that was keeping and actual dual from spontaneously erupting. "Potter, you know more than most how useful this is. Stop distracting people."

Harry had remedial potions that night, and he was quite expecting to have an odd time of it. He was pleasantly surprised. Not only was he somewhat capable with the Chansonarc, his head had felt better than ever, and it had since their lesson that morning. He still had most of that ruined potion...he planned on keeping it, provided nothing fell off or ended up where it wasn't supposed to be.

Snape mentally prodded at him for at least an hour, and Harry even had new secrets to keep hidden. In spite of that, even when the sweat was dripping from his nose, his head felt somehow _solid_.

Of course, Snape would never admit to Harry that he had done anything right; Harry had to rely on his lack of relevant criticism. If Snape was saying something about the topic at hand, it was relevant. This night, most of it seemed to be about Sirius Black and what a thoroughly despicable youth he had been. Harry listened and ignored it, letting his fingers dance over the Chansonarc, and thinking about polka-dotted prams, just to annoy Snape. He answered the scowling potion master's questions with ease, demonstrating that he was indeed paying attention, and even stayed cheerful and candid when the questions turned to his own potion.

"Where did you fail, Potter?"

"I don't know," he announced, bravely.

"_I don't know_ is not a NEWT level answer, you incompetent lout."

"I've started your report, I'll find an answer." When he was civil, it truly outraged Snape the most.

"I truly doubt that. List the steps you took."

Harry listed them, right up until the part where he stirred it exactly four times clockwise in the light from a new moon. The steps were word for word what the potion's instructions called for, but Snape still felt the need to insult several steps.

"You should have crushed the pine seeds, not diced them, and you shouldn't have used a steel knife. Obsidian blades are far superior when working with seeds."

Harry nodded serenely. "Perhaps with your advice, I'll end up with something more acceptable, next time."

"Figure it out yourself, Potter!" Snape snapped. Apparently, he had endured Harry's polite chat for as long as he could. He stood, lifted Harry by the shoulders, and shoved him out the door. Harry was half expecting it, but was not expecting Snape to hold on to him as the last moment, jerking him backwards. "If I ever..._ever_ hear that you have threatened one of my students like that again, I will have you expelled before you can say _No, please, don't_."

Harry paused. He was still in a good mood. He smiled and offered a bewildered Snape his hand, in a Muggle-style hand shake. "I'll make sure you don't hear about that, then." He left before Snape could get irate enough to throw him out again.

The next day in Temporalism, Professor Walken was anxious and unusually terse with them. For half the lesson, Harry avoided saying anything. When he did ask a question, Walken snapped at him.

"Detention!"

"Wait. What?"

"Detention! Tonight. My office. Five, Potter. Fifty points from Gryffindor." Harry had already forgotten what the question was, but he didn't think it was that bad. The he started to wonder if Walken was drunk again.

"Fifty?" Hermione asked, in a lost-sounding voice. That just didn't happen for one question.

"_If _he comes, I'll award them back," Walken said.

"But that's...that's bonkers!" Ron exclaimed.

Walken pivoted, glaring at Ron with his timeless blue eyes. "Care to re-phrase that, Weasley?"

Rom stammered an apology, and Walken turned back to the wand sleeves they had been testing.

After class, Harry turned to Ron and Hermione. "Tell me if I'm out of line here..."

"No," Hermione said firmly. "But he certainly was. I've half a mind to lodge a formal complaint."

"Wait until after his detention," Ron said. "We need those points back." Hermione favored him with a withering glance, and he shrugged. "Just saying. S'true. It's only a few hours. You can wait that long, can't you?"

"I _suppose_." She _harrumphed_ and glanced back in the general direction of the classroom. "Totally uncalled for," she repeated.

That night, Harry left early. Malfoy was far too enraged for him to discount a hallway reprisal, and he wasn't about to ask for an honor guard to his detention. Parvati wanted to walk with him anyway, and he had to walk a tight-rope any time he told her 'no'. Anyway, she probably only wanted to come because she and Lavender thought Walken was dead sexy, and it would give her considerable currency with her friends if she could meet and talk with him outside of class. Even if he was a little nutty.

He stood outside the door for several moments, because coming from the classroom were loud bangs and booms. Eventually, he gathered his courage and knocked on the door.

"What?"

"I'm here for my detention, Professor."

"Oh." Walken was grimy and his room was a mess. "Sit down, then." Harry did as he was told. After a good quarter hour of watching Walken empty cabinets on the ground he cleared his throat. The Professor ignored him until he did it several more times. Walken wheeled around. "What, Potter?"

"Can Gryffindor have its points back? I mean...I came."

"What?" boomed an oddly familiar voice behind him. He turned to see a young Minerva McGonagall standing in the door way. She was fixing a stare that could have frozen a flame on Walken.

"Nothing, Minnie. He got detention. I temporarily took some points to make sure he came."

"Did you have reason to believe he wouldn't?"

Walken sighed. "No, Min."

"How many?"

"How many what, Min?" Walken was talking as he looked through drawers.

"Don't act daft! How many points?"

"Fifty. Now make yourself useful and help me go through this room again."

"Fifty points? Have you returned them?"

"Fifty points to Gryffindor. There. Satisfied?"

"I most certainly am not! What did Potter do?"

Walken continued to dig, and when McGonagall cleared her throat loudly, he sat back on his knees. "I may have over-reacted." McGonagall scowled. "What do you expect? Someone is holding my life in their hands! All existence!"

"It's not Potter's fault you created that infernal device in the first place. At every chance you publicly discredit Fugit, and then you privately create a device he outlined."

"I started that long before Potter was a gleam in his father's eye. Probably before his father was a gleam, in fact." Walken waved his hand. "Go if you want to, Potter."

"The time bomb, then?" Harry said.

McGonagall spun to face him. Harry had a hard time not staring at her. He couldn't honestly say she was beautiful, but all the things she did as a teacher; the scowls, glares, and pursed lips, looked much, much better on a younger face. In fact, they reminded him very strongly of the kinds of looks he and Ron had been getting from Hermione since, well, forever.

"What do you know of the time bomb, Potter?"

"Not much, Professor. I've seen it, is all."

"When I stand before you like this, and only then, you may call me Minnie. I would prefer that the students not know exactly who I am. Even if none are around now," she added. "Besides, between us, I don't really feel like Professor McGonagall when I'm...like this." She raised her hands and looked down at her younger body. Then she turned back to Walken. "Stand up." When he ignored her she repeated herself. "I said stand up, 'Brosie." Walken reluctantly did as he was told. McGonagall raised her wand, and with nearly a minute of waving, put everything back in its proper place. "We've searched this room for days. It's not here. At least we know what Pettigrew took." The cabinet door was open, and the brass ring the sphere had been resting upon was bare.

"That doesn't reassure me," Walken said, slapping his legs as he rose.

"Well, it shouldn't!" McGonagall snapped. "You've given detention to the one person who tried to stop him. I hope you're satisfied." Walken ignored her and stared at where the time bomb should have been.

Finally he spoke, though he continued to gaze at the bare spot it the cabinet. "Potter, I thought I said you could go." He licked his lips, and Harry was unpleasantly reminded of Barty Crouch Junior, who had been impersonating Mad-Eye Moody for most of Harry's fourth year.

"I will, but I was hoping to ask you a question before I go."

McGonagall raised an eyebrow and Walken finally looked him in the eyes. "Go on, then. I suppose I owe you that much."

"It's just...so much has happened this year, and I've been trying to look at it, and see the reason behind it all, but..." Harry trailed off.

"Reason behind it all?" Professor Walken echoed. Harry nodded. "That's an easy mistake to make, Potter...Harry. If I can still call you that." Harry nodded again. He'd had bad days, too. He'd never handed out a detention because of it, but he knew the feeling. "Harry, look at your cloak." His causality cloak was still on the wall of the classroom. "What is the reason your mother died?"

That was a tough question, because the answer made him mad. "To protect me, I suppose."

"That was her reason for doing what she did. The direct reason she did was some kind of curse, most likely. That happened because Voldemort...is it true he's Tom Riddle, by the way?" Harry nodded. "Unbelievable. Tom was...I wouldn't have guessed that, ever. Anyway, it's tempting for us to look at the problem backwards and say she died to that you might live. While that _could_ be true, it would be more true to say you lived _because_ she died. Do you know what I'm getting at?"

"No," Harry said honestly.

McGonagall chimed in. "He's saying that you are assuming everything happens for one specific purpose. Well that's not how causality works. Perhaps you'd be better off looking at all of the experiences you have had this year and asking 'what will these produce'? That would serve you regardless of how the universe works."

Harry thought about that for a while. He toyed with a quill as he did. "So...there are reasons these things have happened..." Walken was nodding. "But there may not be_ a_ reason these things have all happened."

"I think you get it, Harry. It's a hard thing to put into words, but that sounds pretty close."

Harry wasn't sure what was more odd, the actual idea, or the fact that he almost understood it. "But all these things happening _could_ be the cause of something further on."

"That's pretty good, Potter. Harry. Yes. That is how I would look at the events of this year. Or the events of your life in general. An easy way to think of it is this: Did the sun rise this morning so you wouldn't stub your toe, or did you not stub your toe because the sun rose and you could see?"

Professor McGonagall looked up. "That's a terrible example, 'Brosie."

"I...I think I get it," Harry said. And the most amazing thing of all? He actually did.


	31. Chapter 31 The Red Rocket

**[AN]**

**My beta sent me this, and a promise made is a debt unpaid. Also, I just finished the story and I was checking the last few chapters to make sure I got everything on my timeline in order, and I saw a line I had left out of the story. It doesn't add as much plot-wise, but Quidditch has always been an important part of Harry's story. Besides, I like Owen.**

**[/AN]**

**Chapter 31 - The Red Rocket**

The first Saturday in May saw the match between Hufflepuff and Slytherin. The weather was perfect, and since Hufflepuff didn't have a phenomenal seeker, and Draco Malfoy usually relied on following the other seeker around until the snitch was spotted, it might end up being a long match; which was fine with all involved. Harry soon found himself in the stands, squashed between Parvati on his right, and Ginny on his left. It was, overall, reasonably pleasant.

Owen Wilson was feeling much better today, after having suffered through the flu since the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff match, and he was back in his old form again.

"This hasn't been the best year for Slytherin...you'd think they'd make a better showing with newer brooms." Owen paused. "Which isn't to say it's a _bad _showing. Just a less good showing than some other teams."

Ginny leaned in. "They have their weakest team in years. If they didn't have new brooms, they wouldn't even make _a_ showing."

Harry nodded, but he was distracted by the smell of her hair. It reminded him of clovers.

"Oh! Another save for Hufflepuff. They don't cheat and it never stops them from playing their best." A chorus of jeers echoed from the stands. Owen corrected himself hastily. "Not that Slytherin cheats. Creative interpretation of the rules, and all that.

"Cadwaller loses the quaffle, but manages to avoid that bludger somehow, and Slytherin recovers. It's a fast drive to the ring...wow! A fantastic score, and perhaps Zacharias Smith should be given the Slytherin assist there as the quaffle went right off the side of his head and through the ring!"

It looked to Harry like the actual intent had been to hit Zacharias in the head, and the goal had simply been a happy accident. It couldn't have happened to a nicer Hufflepuff, in his mind. As if she was reading his mind, Ginny leaned over again.

"Too bad his nose is still on the proper side. Do you know that that cheeky blighter asked me the other day?"

Harry didn't get to hear what Zacharias had asked...Parvati turned to him and started talking. He knew Zacharias well enough to know that it was undoubtedly tactless. Owen interrupted Parvati as the crowd roared. "Summerby has the snitch...and now of course Draco Malfoy has it..." He paused as McGonagall shouted in his ear. "They've seen him play; they know his game! And Draco out-dives Summerby...and as he goes by, it gets physical...and Malfoy comes up with the snitch, which puts an end to his teammates' struggles, but Hufflepuff still takes the match, 220 to 200, on account of Slytherin not being able to save anything." Owen leaned back again as McGonagall presumably yelled at him. "Were you _at_ this match? They saw it. But uh...there will be next year for Slytherin...remember that." Harry changed his mind -no one would talk to McGonagall like that- that must have been another student.

They milled for a bit, enjoying the weather, and gradually, the stands thinned out more and more until there were only a handful of people left.

A good number of the witches and wizards in the deck of Wizarding cards had been exposed to Quiddich in some form during their lives. Harry was just describing the game to them. Salazar Slytherin seemed certain that the Hufflepuffs had cheated in some way, and Harry was about to tell him off properly when he finally connected two obvious dots.

Salazar Slytherin was grinning almost imperceptibly.

"You were having me on..." Harry said as he tucked the cards in his pocket.

"Took him long enough, Sal," said a voice he was certain was Helga Hufflepuff. "It's like he thought you were evil or something. Anyway, I'm sure my lads beat yours fair and square..."

Parvati glanced over. "Are you talking to chocolate frog cards?"

Harry didn't want to admit it, so he scooted over to Parvati, minding the wooden benches to ward off splinters in the back-side. "Would you rather I talk to you?"

"That's the way these things usually go down," she agreed.

"You were occupied. Did you learn anything interesting?"

"Aside from a lot of second years cursing themselves because they heard it was worth extra-credit, not much," she admitted. "Slow week."

Harry wished he could tell her just a bit about Wormtail or Connor. A giant cat and a giant rat...it hadn't been slow for him. He did throw his arm around her, which felt so casual it even surprised him. "I'm sure it will get better."

"Yeah?" she practically purred. "How can you promise something like that? Do you know something I don't?"

"I'm just saying. It's a Saturday. I've no plans. If you have no plans, maybe we can have no plans together?"

"Are you sure you don't have plans?" she asked. "Because it sounds to me like you've been thinking this through. That's called a plan, mister."

From Harry's pocket came the very faintest of voices. "How romantic!"

"I think I'm going to be sick," a second replied.

"Not on me!" That sounded like Fullbert the Fearful. Parvati didn't seem to hear them. She simply leaned in for a kiss. Harry felt duty-bound to give her one.

They returned to the common room nearly two hours later. Parvati had run into Lavender outside the portrait-hole, so Harry entered alone.

Hermione looked up. "Your lips have gone all chapped. You've spent too much time outside."

"Uh..." Harry started. Parvati handed him a tiny jar, which he assumed was a balm of some sort, and Hermione turned back to her books, which literally covered the table.

"You'll have to be more careful," Parvati announced, grinning. Her lips were glossy, and Harry wasn't sure how hers survived the overdose-inducing snogfest that had ended literally minutes ago. He still had the vague urge to kiss her again, right here in the common room. Somehow, he heroically resisted.

Harry spent the next week being as normal as he had ever been. He'd hardly ever had had a normal week; it felt somewhat out of place to him. In DA, the less advanced group had finally got it through their heads that running away wasn't exactly a weakness. They were to the point now where they helped cover one another's retreat. Harry's books had mentioned that the most dangerous time in any battle was the strategic withdrawal, and the DA students had taken that to heart.

The advanced group functioned like a Quiddich team who had been playing together for years. Even Cho Chang, who appeared to have developed a healthy disdain for him, was a capable dualist, and a team player when it came down to it.

In potions, his third attempt at the binding potion came out spot on, so he wasn't going to get kicked out. When he tried it, he was immediately certain that the comparison to pomegranate juice was a good one. Now all he would have to do was add the crushed up fruit flies and then dissolve a braid-hemp or hair-after that. In the margins of his book, someone had written _braid of rat tails, braid of stag tendons, braid of dog fur._ He didn't think he'd have to go that far...that bit made him a little queasy, but honestly, he'd eaten worse, when he thought about it, which he tried not to do. As he fumbled with crushing up the fruit flies, some of which were still trying to fly away, he was abstractly hoping somewhere that he _would_ get tossed from the class, but that was only a small part of him. Connor leaned over. His potion was nearly done as well. Snape hated him as bad as Neville, maybe even worse; but he was a solid student, and so hard to intimidate that for the most part, the Professor had moved on to easier prey.

"Know what you call a fly with no wings?" He deftly caught one of the humming insects and plucked off its wings, which he dropped carefully in the pile of parts that Harry had already assembled. Harry shook his head. He did not know what they called a fly with no wings. "A walk," Connor snickered, and tossed the now wingless fly to the table, where it tried to scurry away. He turned back to his report, which he gotten as a punishment the previous week for using Butterfly Weed, a uniquely American ingredient. Harry smiled as he corralled the escaping fruit fly.

_A walk_. Perfect.

The daily prophet had nearly daily articles about how nothing had been seen of the Dark Lord by anyone outside the fiasco at the ministry, and even went so far as to speculate that perhaps since the only people who had actually _seen_ you-know-who were the ones in the ministry that night, maybe a rogue spell was to blame. Fudge had found a resurgence and was still somehow the minister, but his approval was still so low that he kept his mouth shut, other than publically question whether he really saw Voldemort. Oh, he never actually _denied_ it, but he did question it. Harry wisely ignored the politics, as Kinglsey frequently urged. For years people had been telling him to ignore things rather than let them get to him, and he was astonished to discover that it was advice he probably should have taken earlier. Granted, things still bothered him on some deep level, but perhaps the Occlumency was finally paying off; Harry had apparently turned a corner. He honestly wasn't sure what he had done right, if in fact he had done anything and not just finally _gotten _it. Regardless, he looked at things with a new sort of detachment.

It completely infuriated Snape, so naturally, Harry could not have been happier.

"I hear your pet half-breed had a rough weekend."

"I didn't know that. I'm sure your wolves bane potion was perfectly adequate."

Snape changed track. "Patil finally came to her senses, eh Potter?"

Harry had no idea why Snape would even say something like that, but it didn't change his answer. "Frankly, I don't know what she saw in me in the first place."

Snape was growing more desperate to find something insulting. Harry could _feel_ it. Whether that was an Occlumency thing or just good old mundane sensitivity didn't matter; he knew it was true.

"I see no one has taken your idiotic motor bike away from you yet. Unfortunately, your arrogant father and his equally pretentious flea-bitten excuse for a friend managed to avoid falling off of it. Perhaps we'll have better luck this year." Harry knew he should be angry but he could also see how desperate Snape was to get a reaction. He continued to play imperfect scales, and when the shadowy ponce tried to hex him, he blocked it with an uncanny speed that even surprised him, in an abstract way. Even more surprising was the fact that he didn't follow the shield charm with a curse of his own. He had a feeling Snape was direly hoping for that. The idea that Snape was fuming in his robes made Harry so ecstatic that he had to put a little effort into not showing how happy he was.

Eventually, Snape pointed at the door with his wand. Off to the side, the blue orb glowed softly. Harry could have sworn he'd seen it flicker from the corner of his eye. What it had taken the form of made no sense whatsoever. It had to be one more thing to confuse him. "Out," Snape said, resolutely.

Harry continued to play for a few more moments, then rose and nodded politely. "Certainly, Professor. Have a good night, Professor. Same time next week?"

"Out!" Snape roared. Harry caught a small glimpse of something in Snape's eye.

It was just a hunch, but..."Their rival is Arsenal."

"Get. Out. Potter!" Snape turned him with a wave of his wand, and pushed him out the door, and Harry finally allowed himself to smile. Oh how wonderful life could be when you could make someone hate you that much simply by being polite to them.

When he turned the corner at the top of the stairs, the entrance to the actual dungeons, Malfoy pushed by him with a startled look.

Something told Harry to turn around, and as he did, he saw Draco standing a few stairs down, staring at him thoughtfully. He was reaching for his wand. Harry felt as though everything in his life so far had come together this week, and he was certain that if Draco pulled the wand, he would be very, very sorry.

"Don't bother, Malfoy."

Even though Draco's lip twitched, and he never took his eyes off Harry, he dropped his hand, and after a moment, continued down the stairs.

"Kiss my arse, Potter."

"Maybe if you buy me dinner and whisper in my ear," Harry responded.

Draco continued to glare even as he descended the stairs. "You wish, Potter."

"You better watch where you're going," Harry said. "You might fall."

Draco scowled and Harry watched him until he was out of sight, and then continued on his way.

The weather was so beautiful that Harry rode his motorbike every day. Connor was on the other one some days, and some days it was Dean. The only downside was that he had to buy petrol and talk Hagrid into getting it. It turned out the tank had been magically expanded, but eventually, his bike ran out of fuel. He wasn't minding it all too well, it was fortunate that he was on the ground when it happened. The black bike was the same way, but it used more or wasn't expanded as much, so it went through even more than his.

Harry really didn't mind. It was a small price to pay for freedom, and it was downright miraculous that Dean and Connor had gotten the second bike to run at all. He saw them making more than one part for it, and even when it was allegedly assembled, it didn't look entirely there. How it ran was anybody's guess.

But run it did and they rode both bikes almost non-stop after classes. After he was confident that he wouldn't end up on the wrong side of the seat, Harry started to give people rides. Parvati was with him a few times, and once he even consented to a bubble-head charms, so that when they got air-borne, Parvati could lean forward and their bubbles would fuse. This made it so that they could easily talk. Harry still believed that the nice thing about the motorbike was that it made talking so difficult, but it was a concession he was willing to make, in the name of chivalry.

Even Hermione went with him once, even though she swore she never would. Harry would have bet she had a good time, but she'd never admit it. Ginny went for a ride as well, but only once. Harry wasn't entirely certain that where she was putting her hands was proper, but he was certain that it was a hazard. Even forgetting for a moment about what Parvati might say...if he crashed the bike, far too many people would be able to say "I told you so."

The cards loved the flying motorbike, and Harry got used to putting them in the small bag that was attached to the front under the headlamp.

In Defense, they were still working on the Patronus charm, off and on, and also working on creative ways around using curses or dealing with dark magic. The first was a waste of time to Harry, since he'd been able to do it forever, and since most adult wizards couldn't conjure up a corporal Patronus, Kingsley was not especially hard on the rest of the sixth-years, even if the best they could manage was a misty ball. His stag marched around the room proudly. It was much harder to manage with Dementors there to make you go spare, but in the classroom he managed just fine.

The second part was at least interesting enough to be enjoyable. _Protego_ was high on the list of ways to deal with the dark arts...as near as anyone knew, that was one of the few spells that could really never be used against anyone. Harry had that spell down to an art form. He considered his Shield charm to be second only to his _expelliarmus,_ and both ended up getting him high marks and Gryffindor a few points. Even better, thanks to him, and the DA, nearly every other student was incredibly proficient with them.

Even more amusing were the conversations they had about how to judiciously use magic.

"Let us say, for the sake of argument, you suspected a friend or acquaintance to be under the influence of the imperius curse. How could we work our way around that?"

The room was silent as they considered that. Finally, Hermione hesitantly raised her hand.

"Miss Granger?"

"Confundus?"

Kingsley tilted his head as he thought about that. "Explain."

"Well, if it seems to have no effect whatsoever, it would indicate that...someone else is driving, so to speak. Wouldn't it?"

"I don't know," the auror admitted. "Never tried it. But it seems sound. Five points. Good thinking, Granger."

"Wait," Draco said. "You mean to tell me you're asking questions and you don't know the answers?"

"It's called 'discussion', Mister Malfoy. You are very nearly an adult, and I think you'll find when you become one that very few things magically become more certain."

Draco scoffed but didn't argue. Harry wasn't about to talk about the charms Parvati had used on Draco when he had tried to catch them unaware, but in his opinion, she got this section as well as anyone. It almost made up for her drawing flowers and vines all over his notes.

The very next weekend was Gryffindor's final match of the year. The clouds were high, the temperature was perfect, and the wind was almost non-existent. From inside the player dressing rooms, Harry could already hear Owen Cauldwell ramping up.

"I wish he'd just shut up already," Ron frowned. Harry knew his friend suffered from pre-match anxiety.

"Shut it, Weasley," Katie said, before Harry could offer up anything. "He's doing his job. _You_ get out there and _do yours_!"

"Besides," Ginny added, "he's right. Ravenclaw has four returning seventh years; six if you count reserves. If anyone can beat us, they can."

Ron grumbled but simply laced his helmet as though it had done something improper to his owl. Harry had his own pre-match ritual, one that Wood had drilled into him. Before taking to the pitch he stretched every muscle and then jumped up and down manically until his legs were a bit numb and tingly. He had his Firebolt, he had his team, he had a day that was practically made for Quidditch, and he had a chance to do something that wouldn't alter the world, but people could respect just the same. When you got right down to it, that was what Harry loved about Quidditch...it was a chance to do great things without having to do Great Things.

He looked over his shoulder, where Natalie was rubbing her palms back and forth quickly, rolling her broom in her hands. Tiny sparks flew from the polished wood. She glanced up at Harry and smiled, then tilted her head up and shook her hair, which was tied back in a simple pony tail. The other three seekers had done the same, and so had Emer Rath. Harry didn't mind the uniform, but he was glad he didn't have to worry about coordinating hair-styles with anyone on the team.

He looked back over his left shoulder, where Ginny Weasley was smiling at him. He smiled back, and Ron clapped him on the back.

"Stop making eyes at my sis. It's now or never!"

Harry walked on the pitch to thunderous applause. There couldn't have been that many Gryffindor fans...likely everyone was simply ready for a good match. They probably all felt as he did; the day was perfect, the end of the year was in sight, and all had been quiet on the Y-K-W front. These were some people who wanted to see a match.

Well, Harry was here to oblige them.

Both teams stepped up to the tipping-off point, where Madam Hooch was standing calmly, holding the quaffle above her head.

"This is going to be a good match. Same rules as they've been all year. Ravenclaw?"

Roger Davies nodded somberly.

"Gryffindor?"

Katie Bell smiled.

Madam Hooch tossed the quaffle high into the air, and both teams took to the skies.

Ron once again showed off Natalie MacDonald's handywork as he streaked up and back to his spot in front of the Gryffindor rings, just in time to deflect a very early scoring attempt.

"Oh! And Bradley is denied straight away by Ron Weasley...we should have a nickname for him, what do you think? I Ron Weasley? Ron 'the wall'?" Ron managed to smile and McGonagall tapped Owen on the ear with her wand.

Harry had forgotten how good of a flyer Cho Chang was. She very nearly kept up with him, even on a broom which was, on parchment, far inferior. They both dropped into seeking patterns fairly quickly. It was looking like today was going to be one of those days where the snitch relentlessly teased them.

"Chang has the snitch! No wait! She had it! Now Potter has it! And the little Creevy...is it Dennis or Colin? They're both little! Dolin, we'll say...Dolin Creevy _almost_ comes up with the snitch, and how wild would that have been?"

Harry was beginning to see why the Chasers had all done their hair up like they did. Even though he knew he had to be at his sharpest, it was hard not to glance occasionally as the flashing hair and pretty girls danced through the air on their brooms. For the Ravenclaw chasers, all boys, it had to be almost maddening at times.

"Ginny Weasley comes up with the quaffle after that nice block by Ravenclaw. What name would she have? Red Weasley?"

"Shut up, Owen!" Harry was fairly certain that had been Ginny who yelled.

"No, they're all red," he mused. "How about Red-_Hot_ Weasley?" Harry peered over his shoulder to see Ginny hurl the quaffle at Owen, who dove under the table. A small silver and red blur streaked by and intercepted the wayward ball. "That's a nice save...perhaps I should call it an assist, by MacDonald. Fiery-temper on the beautiful Weasley girl." He crawled back up to his seat, still holding his enchanted megaphone. McGonagall reached forward and tweaked his ear.

"Ahhh! And the Weasley, the not pretty one..." he paused as McGonagall slapped him with a rolled up piece of parchment. "That is to say _Ron_ Weasley saves a nice one. Can't compliment anyone these days!" Harry heard the _Whap_ of the rolled up parchment again.

"Davies really has these Ravenclaws in top form. They are here to play today, folks! And Chang has the snitch, and this time she dives!" Harry peered down in hopes he could beat Cho to the snitch. Not only would he not beat her, she wasn't going to get to it, as the tiny golden spark was rising as fast as a normal broom could travel. Even as he watched, it twinkled into the shocking blue of the sky and then vanished again. Cho casually pulled out of her dive near the Gryffindor rings.

"And we're sitting tight at 60 apiece. Gryffindor has to win this one by 160 points if they are to take the cup, so even if Potter sees the snitch now, catching it does no good, but he has to keep Chang of the gold, or Ravenclaw could take the cup. Let's he what he does."

Running interference sounded far simpler than it was when Cho was involved. After another three blocks, the last one a fantastic save off the fingertips, Natalie recovered the quaffle and tossed it to Ginny.

"Red Rocket!" Katie Bell yelled. Harry looked to Ron. Did Katie really expect him to leave Cho all alone when she'd already seen the snitch over and over? Did she expect Ron to leave the rings when the entire game was hinging on a goal and a capture? "_Red Rocket_!" she shouted again.

So, apparently she did.

"Here's something we've not seen before," Owen said, his voice starting to raise. "Gryffindor Captain Katie Bell has a 'pull all the stops' run to the rings...and what a _fantastic_ tap that was by Colis Creevy...just flipping amazing, really. Didn't give it much of a ride, but he put it right between Weasley and Weasley.

"Oh they are really flying, and who has it? Who has it? _Chaser Katie Bell_ has it as she makes a wicked feint to the center and...yes! Yes, she puts it through the left ring! That's south-east for those of you who are part pigeon! Gryffindor scores! But they still have to find the snitch before Ravenclaw can return the favor!"

Ron had peeled off immediately and was flying as fast as his broom would go, back the Gryffindor side of the pitch, even before the quaffle even made it through the ring. Katie quickly looped around, and Harry realized that she was headed straight for him far too late to get out of the way. He tried anyway, but she grabbed him in a crushing embrace.

As she did, she kissed his cheek. Then she spoke in his ear. "Right ring, Potter." Harry saw the snitch immediately. It was directly behind the right ring, which was probably why she had put the quaffle through the left. He spun his broom as if he intended to return to the Gryffindor side, then shot to the right, making a looping circle. When he was nearly to the left-hand ring, the Ravenclaw keeper must have seen what he was up to, and started to turn in slow motion.

Maybe Natalie _had_ managed to squeeze a little more out of the Firebolt...maybe Harry had simply never pushed it past what felt reasonable. Either way, there was a shudder from deep inside the broom as he simply blew by the Ravenclaw Keeper and slammed into the snitch. After a few moments of deceleration, he felt save enough to grab the trapped orb. He held it over his head and the crowd exploded with cheers.

"Captain Bell takes a tremendous gamble, and it pays off! Potter has caught the snitch! Hold on...it looks like Davies is talking to Madam Hooch...I think he's trying to make his case that Ravenclaw was stooged..."

Harry was dropping slowly to the ground, watching the animated discussion unfold. Madam Hooch was shaking her head, motioning widely with one hand. Harry couldn't hear her at all, but he knew what that meant. So did Owen.

"And it looks like Hooch isn't buying it..."

The crowd had gone silent as Harry drifted towards the center of the pitch.

"Madam Hooch, the Ravenclaw Chasers, and Bell and Weasley the younger are all in it. And it looks like the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor beaters are tapping the bludgers back and forth to each other, and they both look totally knackered...that's class for you..."

Madam Hooch was flipping through a small book. After a few moments she turned to the crowd and blew her whistle, which was enchanted to be louder than it had any right to be.

"I don't believe it! Gryffindor has been called for Blatching! Bell and Potter! I don't believe it! I've never seen a player called for skinning a team mate! And...and yes! Ravenclaw takes the penalty shot, since the foul is technically on Bell, for Gryffindor! Merlin's teeth!" That's one I've never even considered! Bell is protesting, but it doesn't look like she really has a leg.

"It looks like Davies wanted the foul to invalidate the catching of the snitch, but that's something else that isn't in the rules, and it looks like they're going to let it stand, and give Ravenclaw the penalty. Wow, there's one to wrap your head around. Who says this isn't a thinker's game? Brilliant tactical move by Roger; even though they can't win the game, they can deny Gryffindor the Cup.

"Davies is up for the Ravenclaws, and Weasley has a determined look in his eyes. Davies isn't a fancy flyer, so there won't be tricks there...and he comes streaking down the pitch...how Weasley can face that...I don't know. Now Davies brings it back...and there _is_ fancy flying! He brought that broom to the right...his right, Weasley's left, with his knees! And somehow, Weasley seemed to read his mind! And Weasley is there! _And he makes the stop! He makes the stop!_ He's not I-Ron! He's not 'the wall!' He's just...plain...magic!"

Roger stayed in the air for a moment, then drifted slowly down. He locked eyes with Katie. After a few moments, he shook his head, and offered his hand. Owen was going hemorrhagic, and McGonagall was letting him get away with it, for now.

Nobody wanted to waste too much time in the changing room, because they knew what was waiting for them back at the castle. Harry practically magiced his robed back on, and still he, Emer, and Ginny were the only ones left. Emer smiled back at him as she trotted out with her broom in her hand. Just before they hit the door, Ginny turned on Harry so fast she almost knocked him down.

She kissed him, and it wasn't just a friendly, "good-game" kiss. It was a "hi, my name is Ginny, and I want to snog you senseless" kiss. He had enough restraint to push her back, but she didn't look offended, or hurt, or guilty at all. She merely smiled. Harry wouldn't have minded a kiss like that from Parvati...he knew that thought was a good sign...but he felt a little guilty that it didn't feel as wrong as it should have.

"What are you doing?" In his mind, that question seemed stupid the moment he asked it.

"Kissing you, stupid."

"I have..."

"I know," she interrupted. "Just think of it as a 'we did it' kiss. Or don't think of it at all. Whatever. I just had to know what it felt like."

"Why?"

Ginny cocked her head. "Because it doesn't feel like that with Dean. Whether it's you, or...not you, it's never felt like that with him."

Harry thought about that. The kiss had been ok, but honestly, the first time he kissed Parvati was more electrifying. "Good or bad?"

"Good," she said.

"Then you have the wrong bloke. I mean, I like Dean and all, but you know. Why settle?"

Ginny nodded slowly. "You didn't feel anything, did you?"

"Don't get me wrong," Harry said. "It was nice..."

Ginny held up a hand. "I'll make you a deal."

"What?"

"I won't ever say anything if you don't."

Harry extended a hand. "Deal."

He and Ginny walked back to the castle. He had the vague certainty that he had narrowly escaped a very awkward situation.

Back in the common room, things were just getting started. Someone was handing out sweets, someone else was handing out butterbeer, and the MVP trophy sat under a sheet on one of the tables, which hand been dragged to the middle of the room. Dean appeared to be waiting for them, because once he saw them enter, he pounded on the table with a fist.

"I know this is the moment you've been waiting for. Well this week, it was a tough one. Really." Everyone cheered. "Yeah," Dean continued. "That's a good problem to have, right? I mean, our whole _team_ deserves this!" Hermione cheered at that, from her spot on one of the sofas. "Still...we had to pick someone, right? Well Captain Katie..." Dean paused while people cheered. "Captain Katie called a play very few people would ever use the proper way..." There was more cheering. "I mean, she scored, _then _she did our famous seeker's job for him, and for that, she gets a penalty!" There was a chorus of boos. "Then, even after that, our keeper -our _magic_ keeper- saves the day." Ron stood and bowed. There was a very nice poster of him on the wall. It was a picture of his final stop, and after he caught the quaffle, and while he was still gazing at it intently, the word "magic" flashed overhead in letters that were dark, but still transparent. Everyone in the common room cheered. "So we decided this week, maybe these two would just have to get along and share it."

He pulled the sheet off, where the newest plate had Katie Bell - C, and Ron Weasley - K on it. The picture alternated between Katie's Score from the 'Red Rocket' and Ron's cup-winning penalty save. Ron smiled at Katie, and she smiled at him. The two of them hoisted the trophy together long enough for a Creevy snapshot, and another round of cheering.

Harry was especially happy...he had won, someone else had gotten the glory, and he was convinced -for now- that he was kissing the right girl. How could life get better?

Whenever Harry and Parvati needed a little alone time, they would simply ask Hagrid for permission to find more Bluecap Spliners. Parvati was so good at capturing them that she could usually procure in an hour what took most wizards an entire night. That left them with some free time. Harry was quickly mastering the bubble, and he was getting quite skilled at kissing, as well. Since Parvati and Lavender were never far away from each other during the day, it was nice to get some time alone with her. Harry wouldn't say he _didn't _like Lavender...she was okay...but he _would _say she got old in a hurry. She hadn't forgotten about the Prophesy, either; though she seemed to think she was clever enough to get it out of Harry without him noticing. Muggle studies was her favorite place to try to ply more information out of him, though she wasn't shy about trying it when the odd opportunity presented Itself.

By the third week in May, the opportunity had presented itself frequently, as Harry found himself assisting Parvati with her astronomy an alarming amount, and Lavender was almost always with them. Lavender took astronomy -at least the divination part of it- more seriously than Parvati did.

Harry was not enthused with this. He had been only too happy to bomb out of those particular disciplines, and was not in the least interested in where Mercury happened to be on Sundays at tea-time, even if Parvati had a talent for making it sound interesting or Lavender really, truly cared.

Talking about Astronomy or Divination wasn't really that bad. One could have some fun...maybe they could be creative. Doing it was unabashedly lame, however, and Harry refused. Only bribes from Parvati kept him at it. It was one such night he found himself on the Astronomy Tower, looking for a comet they may or may not be able to see and cursing all the stars in the sky.

Really, they all looked like comets to him.

Parvati had told him where to look, and Lavender was along for this trip, so he basically had to look for the stupid comet all night without a hint of relief, which was in his opinion a total waste of a trip to the astronomy tower. He wasn't asking for much, but was the occasional midnight kiss too much to ask for? Not only did he get no kiss; by midnight he was nearly asleep, by one, nearly catatonic, and by two, nearly mad. 'Round about three, about the time he was starting to drool, Parvati called it off.

"If we haven't seen it yet, I don't think we will," she announced. Harry could tell by her voice that she was disappointed, but he couldn't _always_ save the day. Making comets appear was beyond his brand of heroism. If the comet tried to hex them all on the way by, he might be able to do something. If it didn't show up at all, well; what did she expect?

Harry packed up the telescope he'd been using, which Parvati had borrowed from Emer Rath, and stood by the door, waiting for the two girls to stop yammering and go inside. Maybe it was nice during the day, but clear nights were cold nights, and tonight was clear _and_ cold. He stamped his feet and Parvati looked up.

"_Kabir_ Harry! If you're that tired, go on. We can make it."

Harry was going to argue, then shut his mouth. Why? If she was willing to let him go, he was going, whether she was mad or not. He wearily trudged down the stairs to the common room, passing by a sheepish-looking Natalie MacDonald. Harry paused and cocked his head to the side.

"I couldn't sleep," she explained, shrugging.

"So...what are you doing here?"

"Astronomy bores me to tears," she said. "Perhaps it will make me sleepy." Harry was too tired to argue. Frankly, he was lucky he wasn't sleep-walking by now. He'd used invigoration charms at eleven and one...he was crashing hard, but if he used any more, he wouldn't get to sleep tonight. Natalie was a big enough girl to understand what she was risking. When Harry was almost back to the common room he glanced down a short hall off to his side. Perhaps if he hadn't been taking Neville's eye potion resolutely throughout the year, he'd have missed the lump near the end of the hall, but he saw something and abruptly turned to the hallway. Did someone dump something down here? Maybe they even lost it.

Harry made it nearly to the end of the hallway before he saw what the pile was. He dropped the telescope, which crunched ominously, and reached for his wand.

He didn't know what happened after that, only that he was lying at the ground and staring at a very mangled face that he eventually realized was Neville Longbottom's. There was quite a bit of blood; he could smell it, feel it, and even taste it. It made a pool so deep on the floor that it came up to his lips. It was warm and sticky, and it tasted like pennies.

Harry couldn't move, and he didn't see the booted foot until an instant before it slammed into his face.

Three more times the foot slammed into his he ad, and then it moved to his ribs. Then he saw a gloved hand reach down and savagely yank Neville's head back. A feeble sigh escaped Neville's lips, and then a harsh violet light filled the hallway. Harry was doing his best to stay conscious, but he was failing, in the end.

If he could just reach his wand! He tried to move his arm and it still wouldn't budge. He had no idea if he had been petrified, or just beaten too badly to move anything, but it didn't surprise him. If he would have regained the ability to move at all, he certainly would have screamed by now.

The sickly violet light continued and Harry drifted in and out of consciousness. Several times it seemed as if Neville was on the verge of making some sort of noise, but his friend never even opened his eyes. Occasionally, something would flash, and some new pain would start somewhere on his body. A very faint voice was asking if everything was okay.

Did everything really look okay?

After what seemed like forever, Harry heard a far-off scream. Something crashed again, and then a boot crashed into his nose again. It might have fixed something that it had broken before, because suddenly everything was in focus. He knew that boot. He was wearing a pair just like it, in fact; only his boots were dragon hide.

As Harry's eyes closed again-Merlin's beard, but it hurt to even blink-he found himself thinking that he was right about the American after all. He'd never gotten less satisfaction out of being right, and then, mercifully, everything went dark.


	32. Chapter 32 The Flight of the Pingaling

**[AN] I forgot this is updating weekend! Mercy me! I got reviews from the last chapter! I love you all! In honor of that, I have composed a letter. **_**Ahem.**_

**Dear Sir or Madam Potter fan,**

**Please regard this letter! If you don't tell me how I've done, my writing won't get better. Critique it to your heart's content, from plot-lines to my spellin'. Feel free to rip it all apart.**

**Sincerely,**

**Pat McClellan.**

**[AN]**

**32 - The Flight of the Pingaling**

Harry's eyes opened so slowly that he wasn't certain when it had actually happened. The scent of medicine lingered in the air, but it was not the scent of the kind that said "drink me and whatever's broken will mend, straight away." That was the unpleasant but comforting smell of the school infirmary. This was instead the kind that said "drink me and the pain will all go away." Harry knew only a bit about that kind; up until now he hadn't had much use for it. Arthur Weasley's run in with the snake had been about as close as he came. The idea that he may need some of that was simply frightening.

He couldn't exactly remember how he got here. His head hurt, and he focused on the Occlumency exercises that had been coming so easily the past several weeks. The throbbing ebbed slightly, but didn't resolve itself totally.

Someone was sitting next to him. Without his glasses, the visitor was a swirly blob, but Harry reckoned he knew him just the same. He tried to speak, but it seemed to take some time for the words to make it all the way up his throat and past his lips.

"Prof-" He winced at the sound. "Professor Lupin?"

"Harry! Merlyn and Morgana but it's good to hear you. Don't move!" Harry certainly hadn't planned on moving. He couldn't feel his arms or legs, anyway. The blob murmured and then set something down and fumbled for a few seconds. Eventually Lupin tucked Harry's spectacles on him. They fit funny, as though either the spectacles or his head had been broken and hadn't been perfectly repaired. The way he felt, he was willing to believe that either could be true. Perhaps even both.

Harry groaned, and then fell silent. Now that the world was in focus, more or less, he could get a better grasp of what was around him. He was certainly in a hospital ward. Lupin looked incredibly ill, thin and pale. There were inky, ashen stripes under his eyes, and his lips were dark beneath his unkempt mustache. That wasn't really the worst part, however, as bad as it was.

Harry could see past Lupin, who was sitting on his right. There was an old lady asleep in a chair next to him, and Harry recognized her as Neville Longbottom's grandmother. He was certain he had heard her name, but right now it wouldn't come to him.

Beyond her, in a bed he assumed was identical to his own, lay Neville. Harry knew he ought to be happy to see his fellow Gryffindor; as badly as Neville was beaten and as much blood as there was on the floor, and he was relieved to see the steady rise and fall of Neville's breast. That didn't stop Harry from closing his eyes and wishing he could un-see what he had just seen.

"What happened to Neville?" There was really only one answer that made sense. Harry wasn't exactly sure why he was asking.

"Whoever attacked him worked him over pretty good, Harry," Remus said. "We think you interrupted him."

"Connor did this."

Lupin cocked his head. "The American?"

"The bloody _American_," Harry spat. Harry still had his eyes closed, though he could hear Remus bending over and fumbling with something. Harry lay in silence for a bit. He wasn't sure how long; time had gone all wonky. He didn't think that was magical this time.

Whispering next to him drew his attention...he'd either been sleeping or doing Occlumency. He didn't open his eyes immediately.

"Are you quite certain that's what he said?"

"Quite. I even asked."

Well then. Dumbledore and Remus.

"That doesn't seem to fit with what we know," Dumbledore mused. It was the kind of thing Harry could imagine him saying as he stroked his beard.

"He said it," Remus repeated.

"Well, he _has_ suffered rather a severe injury to the head. Perhaps..."

"No," Remus interrupted. "No, it's the first thing he said, without hesitation. Either it's true, or he _thinks_ it's true."

"But Mister Colier found him; it was he that alerted me!"

"Yes, well," Remus paused. "I suppose he'd be the first to know, if he did it. Have you questioned him?"

"Extensively," Dumbledore said. Harry felt something funny in his leg. He wondered momentarily if somebody was touching it and the brief and tiny tingle was all he could feel. "Mister Colier has a...romantic attachment to another student. When I questioned her, she implied that he was sleeping in his common room until they left together for a late-night...engagement at her urging." Lupin must have done something then, though he didn't speak. "There _were_ witnesses who attested to that. I suppose it's possible, but his timing..."

"I've never met this American," Lupin interrupted. "But Harry told me he could bypass his wards."

"That is possible," Dumbledore admitted slowly. "He's the product of an experiment you see..."

"That doesn't concern me," Lupin snapped. "What concerns me is that this news doesn't surprise you. You _knew_ he could do that and you put him _right_ next to Harry, regardless. _Really, _Albus? Even if you _don't _care about Harry-"

"That is uncalled for. You know-"

"I'm just saying..._even if you didn't_, have we come all this way to take a risk like that?"

Everything was silent for a few moments. "In my estimation..."

"Look, Albus. Tempers are high, tensions are high, patience is low. Mine and yours both, I suspect. I'm going to stop before I say something I'll regret. All the same, I trust you will get to the bottom of this, because if you don't..."

"I will." Dumbledore said with some finality. There was a pause. "May I ask, and this is totally unrelated; how is Augusta managing to sleep through all this?"

"There's a muffling charm on Longbottom's bed."

"Indeed?"

"Oh, yes." Remus appeared to be cooling off. "Not so much now, but for a long while, awaking was...unpleasant for him."

"I can only imagine."

"Imagining probably wouldn't cut it, Albus. The boy screamed in agony. Originally the charm went to the edges of the bed, but Augusta persuaded them to extend it. See that line there? That is a line I daren't cross. I don't fancy hearing screams like that ever again. From a child, no less. That's why you need to find who did this. Harry...Harry's the lucky one. He was just beaten to within an inch of his life. Look at Longbottom! Look at his face, Albus!"

"Remus, I assure you, whoever did this will pay for his or her actions."

There was a creaking noise and things rustled. "Don't assure me, Albus. Just do it."

Harry opened his eyes.

"Ah! Harry, my boy!" Dumbledore smiled reassuringly. Harry didn't feel much like smiling.

"I saw Connor's boot when he kicked me in the face."

"And you are absolutely certain they were his? Take your time to think about it if you must."

"I don't need any time. They look just like mine."

Dumbledore nodded. He gazed thoughtfully at Neville. "Harry, would it trouble you if I held onto Mister Colier for a few days, until Mister Longbottom awakes? I would dearly like to hear what he has to say. It is my understanding that he and Mister Colier were good friends. Part of me can't help but be genuinely perplexed at idea of him harming young Mister Longbottom."

"I saw it!" Harry snapped.

Dumbledore raised his long, thin hands. "I promised I would look into it and so I shall. We are merely discussing things, as two adults do. Can you think of anything else that may help me?" Harry shook his head. "Get some sleep, my boy. Seeing you awake is a tremendous burden off my soul." Dumbledore smiled. It looked and sounded sincere enough. Harry managed a feeble smile, and Dumbledore nodded and backed away. He nodded at Remus. "Don't hesitate to contact me, should the need arise; especially when Mister Longbottom rejoins us." Dumbledore turned away and walked slowly down the ward, his steps echoing where they weren't eaten up by curtain-wrapped beds with muffling charms. When he vanished from sight, Harry turned to Lupin, who shrugged.

Lupin watched him for several moments. "Harry, I imagine you get enough of this, so I'm going to keep this short and sweet. Don't bother."

"I know...it won't make me feel better," Harry snapped. "You too?"

"I wasn't going to say that at all," Lupin said. "Revenge almost always makes me feel better." Harry stared at him. "What? Surprised? Have I ever _not_ been honest with you?"

Harry shook his head. "If it will make me feel better...Neville deserves justice."

Remus glanced at Neville. "I agree with you there." They were both quiet for a while. Harry stared at Remus again.

"Justice."

"What's on your mind is revenge," Lupin said decisively. "Leave that to someone who's good at it."

"I'm sure I could manage."

"I'm sure you could," the older man agreed. "You take after both your parents in that regard...James could do anything he set his mind to. It might have been ugly and clumsy, and he may have put half of Hogwarts to the torch by the time it was over, but he could have done it. Revenge was even something he did well."

They waited in silence. Harry knew there was more coming...he knew the role Remus had played to the Marauders...their collective conscience. It was something that was as part of his nature as being a werewolf. In the end, Remus didn't disappoint him.

"Revenge for you is like the taste of blood to me," he closed his eyes. The look on his face disturbed Harry. "It makes you feel...powerful! You feel in control! You are the master, the hunter, the predator. Everything answers to you!" Harry felt queezy. "You have some...just a little drop...and all you want is more, and more...you can smell it. You think you can master it. You tell yourself you will save your bloodlust for those who deserve it..." He paused and opened his eyes. "And maybe for a while you do." He took a deep breath. His fingertips were shaking. "There's a reason Lycanthropy is a curse, Harry. All that power, all that destructive potential, just waiting for the once second in my life when I am finally consumed." Harry didn't want to listen to Lupin, but it wasn't like he could go anywhere, and anyway, between Remus Lupin and Arthur Weasley, they were the two adults who had never given him the feeling that they were manipulating his life. Deep down, he knew this was Remus asking him, but not stopping him. Deep down, he knew Lupin would leave that decision for him. The least he could do was listen to him, before he cursed Connor to bits.

He realized after a bit that Remus had a hand on his shoulder. He couldn't feel it all that well. He looked beyond his father's friend to Augusta Longbottom and his still-unconscious friend. If there was one thing he learned this year, it was that nothing was free. Someone would always pay.

Remus's discolored lips twisted into a weary smile. "Revenge is like treacle, Harry; very sweet, but very sticky."

Harry smiled bitterly. Even if it was advice he never intended to take, it was catchy.

Dumbledore returned the next day. Harry had been able to glean that he'd only been out of school for three days; it felt like much longer.

"How are you, Harry?"

"Feeling much better, headmaster."

"Up and about, are we?"

"I walked a little bit last night."

"And how did that go?"

"Well, Sir." In truth, his legs below the knees were still numb, so it was a bit frustrating. Harry had never considered how hard walking could be for someone who couldn't feel their feet. Dumbledore looked to Neville's empty bed. "He's out with an orderly. I expect he'll be back in short order." Neville, it turned out, hadn't been beaten as badly as Harry had. He was already more physically apt. "I think they are going to show him a mirror today."

Dumbledore frowned. "Then it's good I've come with work for you to do. I can offer him my support, such as it is." Dumbledore reached into a pocket and produced a small, clay ball.

"I hate those," Harry said dryly.

"I would have brought the pensive, but this travels rather better and I only need you to examine my interview with Mister Colier." He handed the ball to Harry. Harry looked at it disdainfully. "It is only my discussion with Mister Colier. Miss Granger informed me that you may have some apprehension. I can assure that I simply want you to attest to the truth of his statements, insofar as you reasonably can."

Harry looked to Neville's empty bed and sighed. "Recordatio."

Connor was standing before the headmaster's desk. He was dirty, as usual, and he was gazing around in wonder. Dumbledore was sitting at his desk. Harry had very rarely gotten this point-of-view. He almost felt as though he was breaking some rule.

"You're not going to restrain me?"

Dumbledore blinked. "Heavens, no. This is merely an interview; not an inquisition. Do sit down." Connor carefully sat, as though the chair might try to eat him. Harry had never seen a chair do that, but he could imagine that somewhere, there was one that would.

"I've already told you everything. I've even shown you."

Dumbledore set a tiny vial in front of him, and slid a sheet of parchment across the top of his desk. Connor read it only briefly. "Veritaserum? Why don't you just tell me to drink it? It's not like you couldn't have just slipped me some."

"That wouldn't be the right thing to do, Mister Colier. The right thing, in this circumstance, is to allow you the opportunity to decide to take it."

"Why now?"

"It is often useful when reports conflict."

"Whose? Mine and who else?"

Dumbledore ignored the question. "I can, of course, request permission from the ministry, but there is, as usual, paperwork. That paperwork would require me to, quite exhaustively, I might add, identify you as a person of interest to this investigation."

"What's this do then?"

"This sits in the bottom of a drawer. In the event that any allegations are founded, it will go to the ministry."

"And if they aren't?"

"After a decade, it's tossed in the rubbish bin. Metaphorically, of course. The parchment has a charm that will cause it turn to dust, in the event that no ministry seals are ever officially applied."

Connor leaned back, then forward again. "Got a pen?"

"A...?"

"Quill. Whatever. Where do I sign. Does it need to be in blood?" Harry wondered if Connor had forgotten that he was talking to his headmaster. Dumbledore slowly pulled his wand and held it aloft. Then he touched the bottom of the parchment, as if he was teaching an exceptionally slow child. Connor pulled his wand and slapped the same spot, which glowed briefly green. Dumbledore slit the tiny vial over his desktop. Connor took it, unstopped it with his teeth, and downed it in a single swallow. It was more than he'd ever seen used on anyone, so at least there wouldn't be any questions about proper dosage. "How long?"

Dumbledore eyed him. "What is your name?"

"Connor Colier."

"What is your age?"

"18."

"Lie to me. What is your age?"

"18," Connor repeated.

"Read what is on the parchment please."

Connor leaned over the desk and read from the parchment without picking it up. "I authorize the use of certain spells, as well as Veritaserum, for research purposes."

"Do you?"

"Yes!"

"Remember this number: seventeen." Dumbledore leveled his wand. "_Imperio._" Connor smiled. "Repeat after me: I have been sorted into Ravenclaw."

"I have been sorted into Gryffindor. This is lame."

Dumbledore lowered his wand and leaned forward. "Did you meet another wizard in the forbidden forest?"

"Yes."

"Is he your friend?"

"No," Connor responded quickly. "Kill him if you see him."

"Is he the remaining ex nihlo wizard? Will either of you harm a student?"

"Yes. Yes."

"I believe it's ready," Dumbledore said. He was markedly less friendly. "Are you responsible for the incident for which you have been summoned?"

"Yes."

"Explain."

"I was with Harry and Neville. I made enemies for them. I wasn't there when they were attacked in the hall. I arrived too late to help catch their attacker."

"Are you _directly_ responsible?"

"No."

"Why does one of them remember seeing your boots?"

"Because I was wearing them." Harry had to admit; Dumbledore was probably asking for that one.

"Why does he remember you kicking him?"

"I was slipping on all the blood. If I kicked him it was on accident. If I'd have meant to; he'd have stayed kicked."

"Did you see their attacker?"

"Yes."

"Describe him."

"I can't. He was wearing a mask and gloves. I think it was the wizard Harry and Neville and I chased earlier."

"Why do you say that?"

"He saw all three of us. Also, when I tried to capture him, he transfigured into a rat."

"You didn't tell me this before. Why?"

"I wanted to find him myself," Connor said, coolly. "I wanted to make him pay."

Dumbledore seemed unfazed. "Why didn't you follow him immediately? It seems to me you are uniquely suited."

"Harry and Neville were pouring blood. I took them back to the common room and got help."

"What spell did you use?"

"Sir?"

"To get them back to the common room. I will check your wand."

"I didn't use a spell."

Dumbledore drummed his fingertips on his desk. "You carried them both?"

"Yes."

"That must have been difficult."

Even though it wasn't a question, Connor answered anyway. "It was. Harry was nothing, but I had to struggle with Neville."

"Remember this number: fifteen. Say it after me."

"Fifteen." Connor was eerily calm. Harry had decided at some point around the middle that he didn't much care for Veritaserum.

Dumbledore flicked his wand. "Obviate. Quickly, what number did I ask you to remember?"

"Seventeen," replied Connor without a pause. When Dumbledore nodded, Connor let out a big breath. "How are they? Can I see them?"

Dumbledore placed his hands flat on the desk and leaned back. "They are as well as one could expect. Harry was beaten nearly to death and Neville...you will have to see that for yourself. You'll see them when the rest of the students do." Dumbledore rose. "You are dismissed, Mister Colier. For now I am satisfied that you have told me the truth; even if you left very important bits out."

"About the rat." Connor said. He still rose to go, but paused with his hand on the door.

"You may wish to remain secluded for the next hour, as you will have no chance of retaining your discretion. I will inform your house prefect...do you have a preference?"

"Granger."

"I will inform Miss Granger that she should test you before you join the rest of the students."

The memory faded to black, and Harry found himself again on the hospital bed. Sometime during the memory, Neville had returned. He was sitting with his back to Harry, head held in his hands, with healers and Augusta Longbottom arrayed around him. Harry looked up to Dumbledore.

"This doesn't prove anything. I still don't trust him."

"Obviously, or I would not have to resort to such measures," Dumbledore replied. Harry wished Remus was here.

"They could have both been faulty."

"Do you think they were?" Dumbledore asked. No, Harry did not. Especially not with Dumbledore, and especially when one was restricted and the other downright forbidden by the ministry. Only he wasn't going to say that, and Dumbledore could sense it. The headmaster continued, "Does Mister Colier's account coincide with what you remember?"

Harry thought about it. "Yeah," he was finally forced to admit. Dumbledore glanced at Neville. Neville was watching them closely. Dumbledore sighed and extended one hand, and Harry deposited the clay ball into his hand. The headmaster slowly walked to Neville's bed, where he handed over the clay ball. Harry watched as Neville went motionless. After a long time, his eyes opened and he nodded. His jaw was clenched, and he looked quite angry. He even appeared to shout something, although the muffling charms were holding up well; Harry couldn't hear anything. Dumbledore remained motionless for a long time, then walked back to Harry's bed. He scanned over at Neville again, who was still staring balefully in his direction. With Neville's new face, it looked particularly ominous.

"I only wanted to do what was best for you," Dumbledore pleaded. "Both of you. He _agreed_ to it."

"Don't reckon that's because he felt as though you forced him," Harry muttered. He had momentarily forgotten his rage at Connor; especially when he saw the pale scars still visible on his hands.

"I suppose it looked that way."

"I suppose it looked exactly that way. Neville has been his best mate since he got here, and you just showed him that. Sometimes you don't think things through, do you?"

"I do," Dumbledore insisted, looking to Neville again. Neville had lain with his back to them. "Though I'll admit there are times I don't take other perspectives into account, as well as I should."

"Yeah," Harry said. "You can say that again."

There was a long and awkward pause. "I had better return to Hogwarts. Two students have been assaulted, and their attacker is still on the loose. Do you agree with Colier? Do you think it could be Pettigrew?"

"Who else?" Harry said. "Connor and Neville were with me the night we cornered him. Connor almost had him. I didn't think he'd be brave enough to attack us face to face."

"It didn't happen face to face," Dumbledore reminded him. "Sleep on it, Harry."

Two hours later, Neville and Harry were talking about going back. Neville was returning tomorrow, Harry the day after, if all went well.

"Are you ready?" Neville asked.

Harry though about it. "I miss Parvati. I want to find out who did this. Are you?"

"No," Neville said, simply. He waved his hand over his face. Harry wouldn't have blamed him for breaking out in tears, but that didn't happen.

"If it bothers you, I'm sure we can..."

"I'm not worried about me. What will Lavender say?"

Harry was about to answer when he realized he didn't know what she'd say. Their talking grew more intermittent until Harry looked over and saw that Neville was asleep. The blue glow above his friend's bed told him that the silencing charm was active, so it must have been after ten. Neville would need his sleep anyway, if he was going home tomorrow.

A short time later, Harry was awakened by something...he didn't know what. He looked around blearily, until he realized a wizard in a bulky cloak was stopped in front of his bed. Harry didn't have his wand with him, and his mind frantically raced as he tried to think of something he could use for a weapon. There was the ever clean bedpan. He briefly wished it was a normal one. He reached slowly for it when the wizard dropped his hood.

It was not, as Harry had initially assumed, a wizard. It was Connor. Even in the darkness of the ward his eyes gleamed.

"Hello, Harry."

Harry shrank back against his bed frame. "Hullo."

"Are you feeling better?"

Harry shook his head. He was trying to convince himself that Connor would have already killed him, if that was his intent.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"I mean I am, but I don't get to go back to school tomorrow. Neville does, though. How did you get here?"

"Ping's on the roof."

Harry nodded slowly. _The_ _Pingaling_ was the name Dean had given to the motorbike that he and Connor had pieced together, on account of that was the noise it produced, most of the time it was running. "Why not just Apparate?"

Connor shook his head. "Not so good at that. I know it's hard to believe; me being a natural at everything I try, and all..." Connor had trailed off. He was staring at Neville's face in the dim light. He turned away from Harry. "Oh. What the f..." with several large strides he crossed over the mark that denoted the edge of the still expanded silencing charm. The chair that Augusta Longbottom had occupied was in his way, and he kicked it to the side. It was odd to see it fly and burst against the wall, but hear no noise. Harry struggled out of bed to legs that he could almost feel now. Conner extended one long arm behind him and held Harry back with a single hand. Harry couldn't see Neville, but he knew they were talking. Harry was struggling, but Connor was just too strong; even on Harry's best of days, and Connor's worst.

Suddenly, something was flying through the air. Connor released Harry, pinned a pillow that Neville had tossed against the wall with his right hand, then punched it with his left. Harry fell into Connor's back just in time to hear him beating on it three quick times; _whump whump whump._ The pillow wimpered, and Harry bounced off Conner's broad back. Neville reached out a hand as Harry flailed wildly, keeping him up right. Harry almost pulled Neville out of the bed, but Connor held them both in place with one large hand against Neville's chest. The other was pressed against the wall as if he was in danger of falling. After several tense moments, he nodded silently. Harry could see his jaw clenched, even in the dark. He pushed Neville back, and pulled Harry fully to his feet by the shoulders. Harry was pretty sure he could have simply picked him up and tossed him.

He had definitely missed something big between Neville and the American.

Both Connor and Neville refused to discuss any of what Harry had missed, playing it off as if it hadn't happened, and even making jokes.

Finally Neville glanced at Harry's watch. "I'm guessing you don't have permission to be here?"

"How'd you guess?"

"I've got to come back tomorrow, looking like this..." Neville waved his finger in a spiral out from his nose. "You had better be there, to threaten everyone into saying how good I look now...If you sleep through it, I'll fill your bed with bubotubers."

Connor laughed and rose. "Back to the _Pinger,_ then."

One thing was certain in Harry's mind...Neville got to leave for Hogwarts tomorrow, and he was damned well going with him, no matter what anyone said.


	33. Chapter 33 The Face of Vengeance

**33 - The Face of Vengeance**

When Harry awoke the next day, he had no plan, other than to make himself so incredibly inconvenient that the medi-wizards basically _had_ to send him back to Hogwarts. When they asked how he felt, he lied and told them never better, although he still couldn't feel anything past his elbows or knees. He _was _getting better; four days ago, his whole body was numb. Neville was set to be released around lunch time, so that gave Harry the whole morning to endear himself to the staff. By mid-morning, he could tell that he was going to have to do something very special; apparently the staff here was well used to people who wanted out early. They handled him with the kind of calm which was almost aggravating.

Dumbledore and Augusta Longbottom arrived to collect Neville just as he and Harry were finishing up lunch. Harry wasn't exceptionally hungry, but he suspected that someone was paying close attention to what he ate, and figured that eating it all may convince someone important he was feeling better. In fact, eating that much made him feel terrible.

"Are you sure you're ready to return?" Augusta asked Neville. She inspected him carefully through one eye.

"I am if Harry is," Neville replied.

"I was under the impression that Harry had to wait for a day or two?" Dumbledore said. The way he said it didn't make it sound as though it was a question.

"I think if you ask, they may decide he's ready now," Neville observed. Harry was shocked. He'd never admitted what he was about to Neville; not in so many words.

"I don't know..."

"I'll ask," Augusta said, drawing herself up and straightening her hat. She clopped stiffly down the ward, the stuffed bird on her hat wobbling to and fro as if it was about to make a run for it. Dumbledore looked from Neville to Harry. The silence and ensuing conversation was somewhat awkward.

Harry was almost relieved when the medi-wizard returned with Neville's gran.

"_This_ one," the wite-robed wizard said. "He's been trying to convince me all day."

"And?" Dumbledore asked.

The healer was eying the remains of Harry's lunch. "You haven't gotten sick yet?"

"No," Harry tried to sound resolute. Everyone was watching him.

The healer rubbed his whiskers for a bit. Then he stepped forward and waved his wand around Harry. It was some wood that was exceptionally white and quite long and tapered. Occasionally he would tap Harry, though as much as Harry tried to steel himself, he was never ready, and winced quite a bit. Finally the healer shrugged. "Poppy still at Hogwarts?"

"She is," Dumbledore agreed. "But if Mister Potter requires more diligent caregivers-"

"May as well stop there," the medi-wizard waved dismissively. "Bigger question is whether _you_ can protect him." Dumbledore winced. The medi-wizard turned to Harry abruptly. "If I send you back, you're spending at least a night in your infirmary. Understand?" Harry moved his lips but couldn't squeeze out an answer immediately. "Listen; don't bother if you won't do that. You'll just end up here again and waste our time." He waved a hand. "All of us. Yours, too."

"I'll listen. Do you suppose I could take visitors, or be out with friends during the day?"

"Now, Harry," began Dumbledore. "I don't know-"

"I think that would be a splendid idea," the healer, whose name badge read_ L. Tus; FQMW,_ interrupted. "No other way to build up your strength and stamina. No over-doing it though. In fact..." he produced a surprisingly large pad of rag-pulp paper, tore off the top slip, then wrote something on it and tapped it with his wand. He handed the slip to Harry. "Start taking those immediately. You'll only need them for another day or two." Harry looked at the scrap in his hand. Not only was it illegible, he didn't even know which end was up.

"Very well," Dumbledore said, a bit stiffly. "I suppose if you feel it beneficial..."

"I do," Healer Tus interrupted again. He stared intently at Harry. "People who don't want to be here are usually bigger trouble than they're worth. Now, before I can discharge you, I need permission. You're technically _hhd,_ you know."

"HHD?" Harry glanced at Neville.

"_Headed for a Horrid Death_," Neville said. "Only I think here it just means that you are just leaving sooner than they'd like." Harry glanced back at Healer Tus.

"Probably. What do I know? I'm just a Fully Qualified Medi-Wizard." He shrugged. He held out Harry's chart. "Give it a tap, so the world knows you're HHD."

"I have no wand," Harry said.

"Actually, Mister Potter is still an under-aged wizard," Doumbledore observed. Healer Tus pulled the chart back and glanced at it. "So he is." He looked at Harry. "Either you get someone legally responsible to sign for you or go back to bed. It's only a day or so. Either way, leave me alone, because I can make it a _long_ day."

Harry looked to Dumbledore, who said nothing. After Augusta and Neville joined in the silent stare, he exhaled noisily.

"I suppose it will be good for your morale, Harry."

After procuring his medicine; which was a handful of large, violently green pills, they returned to Hogwarts. It was a long trip, made in a muggle automobile, since the healers didn't want either one of them apparating for a month. When they were outside the gate to Hogwarts, Harry was starting to get a feeling that he hoped was good old fashioned nausea. At the front doors, he had gone tingly down to the knees, even though he still couldn't feel his legs from the calf down all that well. They walked as swiftly as they could up to the Gryffindor common room, which was fortunately limited by how fast Neville's gran could move, which just happened to be slower than Harry, for the moment. When they reached the portrait of the fat lady, both women stared at each other.

"Auggie?" The fat lady blinked her beady eyes as though she couldn't believe them.

"Hello, Violet."

"Has it been that long?"

Augusta started at her hands. "It's been a while. Bringing my grandson back, don't you know? He was the victim of...something terrible, I'm afraid."

"I heard..." the fat lady trailed off. Whatever she was going to say was lost as she caught sight of Neville's face. She gulped and opened the portrait.

"Thank you," said Augusta, shortly.

Since it was still early in the day, there were only a few people in the common room when they entered...a few seventh years who were probably skiving off class and Emer Rath. Emer started to smile, but it froze before it had totally found its way onto her reasonably pretty face.

"Neville?"

"Yeah." He stammered. "Uh. Hi."

She was speechless, and instead of talking, shook her head a tiny bit. It made her hair ripple slightly. "What-?" She trailed off. Neville was definitely blushing. It made the purple scars on his face slightly less visible.

"We are investigating," Dumbledore said hastily. "If you can wait for a moment, Augusta?" He led them to the dormitory.

Harry could hear the hushed whispers behind him, and he whirled, pulling his hair back. "Honestly," he shouted angrily. "It's not like you've never seen a scar before!" They fell quiet, and a hand on his shoulder got his attention.

It was Dumbledore's, and he was peering at Harry. "Calm yourself, Harry. You've only just gotten back. I imagine we'd all feel rather foolish if you had to return to Saint Mungo's immediately after I authorized your release."

Harry nodded, and when he got back to his bed, paused. He checked enough of his wards to reasonably determine that no-one had tampered with his personal effects. The chansonarc, bottle of fire, and mirror were on his bed where he had left them. His talking cards were stacked neatly on his bureau.

"Where's my wand?" Harry asked, suddenly.

Dumbledore pulled open a drawer, where Harry's wand was lying next to his mother's. It wasn't strictly legal, but Dumbledore didn't mention it. Harry felt better the moment he grasped his own wand. Neville was over by his plants.

"Someone must have minded them for me."

Dumbledore smiled. "You have excellent friends, Mister Longbottom. I'm sure they were more than adequately cared for."

Harry hoped that was true. Connor periodically worked his way from 'trusted' to 'questionable' and back again. His head wanted to say Connor had proved himself; his gut wanted to remind him that perhaps the American was more clever than he appeared.

The headmaster saw them both into their beds and then rejoined Augusta, presumably to have a discussion with her in his office. Harry was only to remain out of the hospital wing while he was awake. He still had to return there to sleep. He sat on his bed, idly chatting with Neville, who was alternating between being worried and displaying false bravado.

They knew it was mid-afternoon when Dean and Seamus burst through the door. Harry and Neville looked up, and immediately both of the other boys stopped.

"Merlin...Neville..." Dean breathed. "Tell me that Yankee didn't do it! Wait...tell me if he did! Just say the word! I _knew_ he was acting strange!"

"Strange how?" Harry asked.

"He didn't!" Neville insisted, absently rubbing his face.

"Then who did? We're not about to let someone walk away from..." He waved in Neville's general direction.

"I don't know who it was," Neville insisted. "But you think I'd recognize my own friend. We think it was-"

"Someone we've had problems with in the past," Harry interrupted. "A Death-Eater."

Neville looked at him and nodded slowly. Dean and Seamus didn't look as though they were buying it, but they both turned to go.

"We'd appreciate it if you didn't say anything until we come down," Neville said. "I'm...frankly I'm batty about it. What will Lavender say?"

Seamus paused. He had never been the closest friend to either of them, but now he tilted his head. "Colleens dig scars. And if they don't, you've got the wrong one." He stared at Neville's ruined face for a few more moments, and then nodded as he and Dean turned to go.

"Don't be too long," Dean said back. "People were worried. They'll want to see you." He looked Harry's battered body up and down, then shifted his gaze to Neville. "Especially now."

Harry turned his glance to Neville, who was staring at his shoes. "I suppose we'd better go then."

"It's now or never," Neville agreed. After a few breaths he rose and pulled Harry to his feet. A gesture that may have been awkward a week ago was welcome now. Granted, he was recovering quickly, but numb legs made it hard to stand up.

No one noticed them entering the common room at first. There weren't a lot of students there; Harry had seen more, but the time of day was a naturally active one. A third year girl noticed them and actually looked back down at her work, before she slowly and deliberately looked again, and then screamed.

A pall fell over the common room that was unnatural and uncomfortable. Everyone in there had looked to see what was going on. Once their eyes slid over Harry and Neville, they invariably stopped with a dumbfounded look. Some recovered quite quickly and looked away. Others continued to stare. The girl who had screamed had her hand over her mouth. Neville was turning quite red. He tried to push past Harry, but Harry wouldn't let him.

"These are your mates. They know you. I reckon they are more worried about how it happened than they are concerned your face is a little messed up." Harry desperately wanted to believe that. Neville's face was 'a little messed up' like the sky was 'a little blue'.

Ron chose this moment to walk in with Hermione in tow. He didn't notice Harry and Neville at first. He saw that all eyes in the common room were affixed to a common point and slowly swiveled his head around to see what everyone was looking at. Hermione had stopped dead in her tracks. Ron bound easily up the stairs and stopped short of hugging them both.

"Fancy a break, then, did you?" He didn't make it a point not to stare at Neville's face, but he managed to avoid looking without looking like he was avoiding it.

"Oh, Neville," Hermione began. She had followed him with difficulty.

Ron slapped her hand away. "Get off. _I _think it might be a new fad."

Neville smiled weakly and Ron looked around. "Oi!" Everyone was staring at them anyway. There really wasn't a need to get their attention. "Let's have a hand for Neville and Harry, then! Even grievous bodily injury can't keep them away!" Dean and Seamus clapped immediately, and most of the common room followed their lead. Ron shot spitballs out of his wand at the few people that weren't. He held up his hands after a moment. "Clear off that lounge, and get your looks in now. Next person I see staring gets hexed to next August."

"Ron," began Hermione.

"Quiet," he said in a whisper. Everyone continued to clap, then one by one tore their eyes away and back to whatever it was they had been doing before Neville and Harry arrived. Within ten minutes, the common room had, if not returned to normal, at least made a valiant effort. People were still wandering in after their last class of the day. Then there would be a mini-scene, and Ron, Dean, or Seamus would threaten someone into not making a fuss.

Harry didn't care for the commotion that followed. It was only the thought of Neville having to go through this alone that even kept him in the common room. In spite of his promise, Connor was absent, and in addition, Parvati and Lavender were gone as well.

Harry hadn't exactly ended on a high note with Parvati. Someone said something in his ear. He looked over to see Emer Rath leaning over the back of the sofa.

"Pardon?"

"I said 'welcome back', officially."

"Uh...thanks." A though occurred to Harry. "Listen, about your telescope..."

Emer dismissed him with the wave of one carefully painted hand. "Don't worry, Harry. It's just a telescope. Anyway, Professor Dumbledore had it mended and now I can practically see sidewalks on Mars. I'm just happy you're okay."

"Have you seen Parvati? Or Lavender?"

Emer shook her head. It was almost dinner-time, and Harry was quickly becoming drained.

Neville, who had been surrounded by girls all year, was amazingly looking somewhat satisfied. Never in Harry's life had his scar garnered him the kind of kisses, hugs, and cheek-touching Neville was getting now. It would have been nice if the bloody thing had been useful for anything but a telephone straight into the Dark Lord's thoughts. He'd have taken a snog over that any day.

By the time dinner rolled around, a vast majority of the Gryffindor girls-including Hermione, and she never even used cosmetics-had whipped up an excellent concealing charm, and Neville was even smiling now and then. It looked like he'd be able to take his meal in the great hall after all. Harry wasn't sure that would actually happen, right up until they walked out the door. They went as a group, which was handy, because he was moving very slowly. He didn't even really want to eat, even though his body told him that he was hungry. It seemed, on the whole, like too much work to be chewing things up tonight.

Harry found himself sandwiched between Ron and Neville. The other houses would occasionally peek over, but as Harry merely looked as though he'd been in a fight and Neville had the concealing charm, there really wasn't much to see. Connor was across from them, and he and Neville hadn't even talked yet, which seemed a little suspicious to Harry. He was starting to put a few things together in his head.

Before the meal, Lavender and Parvati showed up. They actually walked most of the way to the table without really looking at it, and both of them stopped immediately upon seeing Harry and Neville. Harry realized that he was holding his breath, against his will. He hadn't wanted to get as involved with Parvati as he had, but things had snowballed, and he wasn't sure how. After a moment when he was certain she was going to yell something rude to him, Lavender nudged her. She shook her head slightly and held out her hands, which was certainly odd, but more welcome than a slap. Lavender actually did hug Neville. She made a big show out of it, and Harry could hear him quietly warn her.

"Careful. I'll smear."

"Smear?" She peered intently at his face, then sucked in a gasp. "That's horrible!"

By then, Parvati had maneuvered through the crowd to her seat across from Harry, so he couldn't listen to anymore. She wasn't even saying much, but the mere fact that she was there made him feel a little better. There were times he was with her that he tingled, so maybe some Parvati was just what he needed to deal with the tingling he had now, from the beating he had taken. Natalie actually chatted with her more than he did, not that he'd complain.

Halfway through the meal, Parvati and Lavender had both moved over to talk to friends at the Ravenclaw table, and Luna Lovegood was slumped in between Neville and Ginny Weasley. She and Ginny had been talking, but she grew more and more distracted as the conversation went on, staring blatantly at Neville's face.

"I don't understand why you're hiding it," she said at last. She ran her fingers close to his skin, but not close enough to ruin the concealing charm. She followed the curving scar from where it started, at the tip of his nose, and all along the looping path it took as it spiraled outward, over his lips, his eyes, his cheeks, chin, and all the way up to his hairline, to where it finally ended in front of his right ear.

"People will stare at it," Neville muttered weakly. Ginny and Harry were both watching with interest now.

"It's very fascinating," Luna agreed.

"It makes me ugly."

Luna considered that. "I don't think that at all, Neville Longbottom. Whoever did it is certainly ugly. If anything, it makes people really look at you. I think you look dashing." She smiled a brief, intense smile, then turned to Ginny as if the conversation had never happened.

"How does she do that?" Ron asked. Harry just shook his head. "You better get to the hospital wing, mate." Harry looked at his friend, and Ron tapped the back of his hand with his fingertip. Harry looked down. _I NEED MEDICAL ATTENTION_ was flashing on the back of his hand. "Big pills? Color of snot?" Ron asked

"Well...yeah."

"My great uncle Telius had to take them. Totally barmy...though he was a Labrador for the last few years of his life. He could fetch a stick, though." Harry wasn't surprised he had to go to the infirmary. He was actually surprised that he'd made it this long without passing out.

"Want me to see you there?" asked Neville.

"I can make it. I'm just ready for some sleep."

Harry fought his way to his feet and shuffled off slowly to the ward. Parvati met him about half way. Harry didn't really know what to say to her now that they were alone. She just walked beside him for a bit, then paused when they had almost reached the door.

"I'm sorry I was mean, Harry." She was sorry? "I was just cold, and tired, and mad I couldn't..." she trailed off. "That doesn't matter. I'm sorry. This is my fault."

"How is it your fault?"

"If I'd have been civil, you'd have waited for me, and this never would have happened."

Would it have? Harry wasn't sure. "Or it could have happened to you, too; and you're _way_ prettier than me...it's not that bad if I get a little roughed up, no one can tell. I told you hanging around with me was dangerous. Look where it got Neville."

"Did that happen because of you?"

That was a good question, and he hadn't figured out a reasonable answer. "I don't know. Look, I'm glad we got to talk, but I have to sleep..."

"Of course!" she exclaimed. She kissed him softly. It hurt a little. "We can talk more tomorrow?"

"Provided I don't sleep through it," Harry said. Parvati smiled. He did feel better.

"Mister Potter! I _do_ wish you'd stay away. Bed!" Madam Pomfrey pointed at Harry's usual bed. He ambled over to it. She beat him there easily and waved her wand over his body. "Running on willpower and good intentions, I see. You're mending. You can't overdo it." She was being slightly less terse with him than usual. Harry simply nodded. "Two nights, Potter. Two nights and you can leave during the day. You can manage that?" Harry nodded. "Then get to bed."

Sometime later, something awakened Harry from his sleep; someone was standing near him. He had his wand under his pillow, but as with Remus Lupin, he was pretty sure he knew his visitor.

"Professor," he croaked. How long had he been asleep? It couldn't have been for long. He was still dead tired.

"Hello, Harry." Dumbledore said. "I just stopped by to see how you were handling your first day back. And I was asked to bring you this." He gave Harry a glass of familiar smelling medicine.

"I'm pretty sure I'll sleep well enough," Harry said. Dumbledore simply shrugged. Harry held the small glass under his nose, then downed it with a single gulp.

That night was the first time ever that Harry had dreams while using the Dreamless Sleep potion. They weren't indistinct, but they didn't exactly make sense either. All he could remember was a lot of noise and different voices. At one point he even remembered pulling the pillow over his head, as though it would help drown them out. He awoke the next morning both refreshed and confused. The silence in the room seemed unnatural. He fumbled with his spectacles, tapped them with a wand, and jammed them on when he saw a blue glimmer. Madame Pomfrey was nowhere to be found, and the only other bed was surrounded by a curtain, and it was moving in a very unsettling way, as if it was a jellyfish consuming its lunch. Harry glanced at his watch. It was nearly breakfast time. He felt downright miraculous, as if he'd slept a week. The tingling in his arms and legs had retreated to this hands and feet, and he felt no urge whatsoever to go to sleep again. If he went to the common room first, he probably wouldn't make it to the great hall by the start of the meal. He decided just to go straight down. As full as he had been yesterday, he was ravenous now.

When Harry got to the great hall, he found it deserted. He glanced at his watch, shook it, and listened to it carefully. It _sounded _reasonable. He supposed it could have been off. It was right when he put it on last night, but stranger things had happened. After a half hour of waiting, he trudged up to the common room.

"Well! What a pleasant surprise!" the fat lady gushed. Harry assumed she was trying to act casual and let it slide.

The common room was empty, so he dropped with a grunt onto his favorite sofa. He felt under the cushion, and pulled forth the small bottle that eternally ran a few minutes behind. In it, the common room was empty too, and then he saw himself wander into the picture. He looked skinny and pallid, even in miniature. He stared at the bottle and spaced off. A noise behind him startled him, and he turned to see Neville appear, bleary eyed from the dormitory. His watch must have be a few hours off for some reason.

"About time," Harry said. "I've been waiting forever."

Neville looked up, and immediately the scars looked much worse...Neville was very pale, and judging by the huge streaks under his eyes, he could have used some dreamless sleep potion himself. Perhaps Neville should have been the one staying in the hospital wing for an extra night.

"Neville? Are you...okay?"

"Harry?" Ron said, emerging from the door. "Is that you? What are you doing here?"

"Waiting to eat. I woke up early, and my watch is off, so I went to the great hall early, and I'm starved."

"Early? We didn't know if you were back at Saint Mungo's! Parvati was practically spare. I think Hermione might have sedated her. And you should hear the latest."

Parvati spare? And sedated? And the latest? "What?"

Ron paused. He was thick, and when _he_ got the idea that something might be wrong, it almost assuredly was. "Where have you been?"

"What? Saint Mungo's. You know that!"

"Again?"

"Wait. What? Again?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "For the last _two days,_ mate?"

"Two?" Harry looked at Neville, who if anything, looked worse. "Two days? Like I went to sleep on Thursday and now it's Saturday?"

"Sunday," Ron said absently. He was staring at Harry in a way that Harry didn't like at all.

"Wait," Harry said. "Two days?" Ron was staring at him as though he had brain damage, which he very well might have. "You're having me on," he said at last.

"Here," Neville said, trudging slowly back up the stairs. Harry followed him.

Neville's spotty memory had given rise to a number of wonderful gimmicks and devices, but very few were as useful, in Harry's opinion, as the humble automatic calendar, which sat politely and only ever did one thing- changed the day, unerringly. He had it tilted out towards the rest of the beds, because there were times when one awoke that one wasn't exactly certain of the day, or in Neville's case, the month. Harry saw the date the moment he stepped through the door.

"Two days..." he muttered distractedly.

Ron nodded. "And you've got all the girls in a tizzy, mate. I wish they went that gaga over me."

"You've never vanished for two days," Connor said softly. He had pillows propped against the wall and was studying from an absurdly large history of magic tome. Various sheets of parchment were stacked around him. "When _I _vanish for two days, people hold me at wand-point and ask what I'm on about.

"That's because you're a suspicious lout," Ron nodded. Harry didn't think he was being mean, but he also didn't think Ron was trying to be funny. It was more like he was just observing. Connor nodded.

"You better find Parvati early," Seamus said, still lying with his face in the pillow. "She's a bit on edge." He rolled over. "I heard you may know who the witch with that un-stable professor is."

Harry had to consider this for a while before he caught on to what Seamus was actually talking about. "Where did you hear that?"

"A little bird told me. And Lavender told her. And Parvati told _her_, and she said she heard it from you."

"Ah. Well, some relative of McGonagall's, I guess," Harry said. He'd forgotten all about it.

Seamus pulled a sour face. "Why do you have to go and take the treacle out of my tart, Harry?" He flopped back down.

"What?"

"I'm not getting involved with a McGonagall. First thing I did wrong; I'd wind up a fox on hunting day."

"I've seen her. I don't think you stand a chance, anyway."

Seamus dismissively waved that hand that was nearly dangling to the floor without looking up. "I'm Irish, Potter. I've always got a chance."

Breakfast came later on Sundays, but eventually Harry found himself in the great hall, surrounded by an uneasy aura of impending doom. Parvati had hugged him...she'd downright _constricted _him, but she refused to say anything out of the ordinary. She wouldn't let him stray from her sight though. Not like he could if he wanted to; he was still moving somewhat slow.

They left the common room as a group, and when they reached the great hall, Harry saw that the other students had generally done the same. Their talk was muted, and as Harry looked around, he saw the Headmaster as well as several professors speaking to a group of wizards in important looking robes. When two of the larger ones turned to survey the room, Harry saw Lucius Malfoy. After the ordeal at the ministry, Lucius had been in hiding...he must have wormed his way out of it. Lucius saw him at the same time, and started to move, saying something to the rest of them. Kingsley Shacklebolt stepped in front of him and Dumbledore put a hand on the elder Malfoy's shoulder. Lucius glanced back with a startled look on his face.

Even from this distance, Harry could tell the look radiating from Dumbledore's face. It was very similar to the one he had seen in the Ministry at the end of last year. The look he wore now was not the benign, almost foppish headmaster; it was the wizard who understood innately that he could cause very important things to burst at will. It was combined with the feeling that one got around Connor; that he was a wound up spring, and prepared to pop; by fault or by design. Lucius didn't exactly cringe, but the change in his posture was immediate.

Kingsley placed one large hand on each man's shoulder and turned them away from the Great Hall. A few minutes later, the headmaster tapped the edge of his podium with his wand. It was far louder than it should have been, and all motion immediately stopped. The school governors regarded him from one side of the stage, and the teachers, the other.

Dumbledore cleared his throat, which surely wasn't necessary, as every pair of eyes in the room had to be on him. "I need your attention please." Some of the Slytherins were whispering noisily. Harry heard "Draco", but not much else. Dumbledore slapped the podium with his wand again. Again the thunder crashed. "That is not a request. I'm afraid I have some disturbing news."

**[AN] Well, two from the end. Things coming together? I'm going to post another terminator story in the next few days, too. [/AN] **


	34. Chapter 34 A Pretty Good Spell

**34 - A Pretty Good Spell**

Dumbledore's gaze passed over the sea of students in the great hall, seeming to land on each one and linger for a moment before moving on. Since the Slytherins had been silenced, there was no noise, either, so it was an uncomfortable several moments.

"As your Headmaster, it is natural for me to believe that you are all shining examples of your houses; brave, loyal, clever, or ambitious. It is natural for me to want to see the good in you; most of you are good. Perhaps deep down," Dumbledore paused. "Very deep down, but you are good none-the-less.

"Over the last week, three students have been attacked in this castle -this _sanctuary_- a place where you are supposed to be free of the tribulations of the world outside." He banged his hand on his podium to emphasize what he was saying. Some students actually flinched.

"And now, I have no choice but to believe that one of you, or even a group, is suffering from a lapse in judgment. This is to my great personal regret. You may be brave, loyal, clever, or ambitious, but you are most assuredly overly so, and deep down, whatever your intentions, you have gone _bad_ along the way.

"This shall serve as your notice: Within two days' time you will no longer be a student at Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and you will almost assuredly be standing before the Ministry.

"I am not without faith in you all. Forgiveness comes to those who ask for it; so should you choose to ask, I will listen. Understand, however, that things have progressed beyond mere forgiveness alone. You will atone for what you have done.

"To those students who have been terrorized, who feel unsafe in their own beds, know that this behavior will not be tolerated at Hogwarts; not now, and not ever.

"I deeply regret that it was necessary to take your valuable time." The headmaster turned abruptly away, and immediately, the hall was filled with anxious whispers.

Harry turned to Ron. "He said _three_." Ron was looking around the great hall.

"_That's_ the latest."

It was Parvati who leaned in from across the table. She was fiddling with her SkyBall. "_I _hear Draco Malfoy was found in a hole at the base of one of the towers this morning, and he was badly cursed."

"No, no," Lavender said. "He was crying and babbling, they said."

"He wasn't either," Ginny added. "I talked to Dobby early this morning in the kitchen. Some of the house elves got summoned to help move him to the infirmary."

"Did they say why?" Dean asked.

"They just said his arms and legs were all bendy, like he had broken them," she added. She made a point of looking at Lavender and Parvati. "You _can't_ tell _anyone_ where you heard that. The house elves could really get in trouble!" Both of the resident gossips tried to look innocent. They both failed; more or less.

Harry had bigger concerns than Parvati, however, and he was sure Hermione did too, because she uncharacteristically dropped the subject. When lunch was over, she wandered outside towards Hagrid's hut. Harry and Ron naturally followed her. She walked over to the Pingaling and rested on it, examining some of the spots and trying unsuccessfully to _scourgify_ a few. Harry stared at his own bike. He didn't know what kept the other students at Hogwarts busy, but he was really getting tired of how he seemed to wind up in the middle of so much.

"Dumbledore _has _to be protecting Connor. Or Neville. Or both." Harry shrugged. "Come on, Harry, don't be daft. Do you think it's coincidence that you and Neville are attacked in a hallway, and _the night after_ you both return, Malfoy gets...whatever he got? This is _Dumbledore._" Harry shrugged again.

"I don't even know that it was Malfoy," Harry said. Only he did. In fact, something in his mind said that he had known since he had seen the interview with Connor. Now that he thought about it, Neville had probably known all along, since Connor had been interviewed under the influence of Veritaserum. He knew of only two wizards who transfigured into rats, and Wormtail wasn't exactly a "take them on" type. He wasn't white either. Harry sat on his own bike. "So...what then?"

"I don't really know," Hermione admitted. "I mean, _I _can't prove anything." She absentmindedly turned the hand throttle on the Pingaling. "Maybe he should go talk to Dumbledore?"

Harry stared at her. "You've gone mad while I was away."

"Well, you heard the Headmaster! I think he was saying that he knows who it was, but he can't help unless whoever it was comes to him. Maybe he _wants _to help! What if _he _knows that Draco attacked you? I'm not saying it's right, but with Neville...at least it's understandable."

"Hold on," Ron said, finally. "Are you saying Malfoy was somehow involved with carving up Neville's face?"

Hermione glared at Ron. "Welcome to Hogwarts, Weasley."

"Well, he deserves what he got, then," Ron announced, matter-of-factly.

"We don't ever _know_ what he got," Hermione sighed.

Harry threw up his arms. "What do you want me to do about it, Hermione? I'm _glad_ that rat-bastard finally got what he had coming. He's been earning it since he came here!"

"I already told you. I don't think Dumbledore can help Connor unless he asks for it."

"So what about Neville? Malfoy carves a rune into his face and Connor's the one who gets punished?"

Hermione rubbed at an imaginary dust spot on the flat black gas tank. "Dumbledore's human, he'll understand."

"And if he doesn't?"

"If Connor or Neville did it, they'll still need Dumbledore's help; even if it's just to stay out of Azkaban."

"So...why are you talking to me?"

"You're his friend!" she almost yelled. "Out of everyone here, he trusts you the most!"

"He trusts Neville the most."

"Yep," Ron nodded. Hermione rubbed at another non-existent spot.

Harry drew a rat in the air with glittering sparks. With a vicious jab, he scattered the glimmering image. "So have this talk with Neville, then. Leave me out of it."

Finally she looked up. "I'm not entirely convinced Neville wasn't involved."

"So? What if Neville did it?" Ron stood in front of the black bike, staring down. "That is, if anyone did. For all we know the weaselly ponce jumped. He probably did Harry and Neville, and felt guilty."

"I doubt he's felt guilty about anything a day in his life," she said. "That only happens if you've done something you know is wrong." She looked up at Harry. "And if Neville was...involved...I can't imaging he'd be too quick to snitch. Can you just promise you'll mention it?"

"I'll mention it," Harry sighed. Hermione visibly relaxed. "Honestly, if Draco did do this...he deserved it. If only for Neville."

Hermione rose and kicked at the ground. She was silent. Finally she looked up. "That's the reason you need to talk to them. They don't deserve to be punished as bad as I think they will be, if they don't get Dumbledore's help." When she put it that way, what could Harry do?

It was Ron's turn to play with the throttle on the bike. "Hey, Harry?" Harry looked up wordlessly. "Feel up to a ride?"

Connor and Neville were both in the dormitory when Harry returned. Harry fully intended to say _something_, but he lost his nerve at the end, especially when Neville looked up. That damned scarred face was just unsettling.

Midway through charms the next day, Harry worked up the nerve to at least broach the subject. Ron actually helped him out.

"What d'you think happened to Malfoy?"

"He hit the ground," Connor said. "I bet if he wouldn't have hit the ground, he'd be fine today." Neville smiled weakly.

"Dumbledore seemed like he wanted to help whoever did it," Harry said casually.

"He hasn't been in a hurry to help us so far," Neville said, flicking his wand at the candle they were charming so it would stay lit for a very long time. Not forever...that kind of thing was tricky...but very long was doable. He had a point, Harry thought.

Hermione cleared her throat, and they all stared at her. Finally she pursed her lips tightly and waved her wand in a complicated way, muttering under her breath.

"What are you doing?" Connor asked.

"Privacy! Harry!"

Harry certainly did not want to get into this. He was still a little...afraid would have been the wrong word, but _concerned_ would work okay...concerned about Connor. He also wasn't convinced that someone had simply pushed Draco. Draco was aggravating, evil, pretentious, and a perpetual pain in the collective Hogwarts backside. Draco had _also_ made it six years without appreciably changing his ways. It wouldn't be giving the little rodent any undue respect to say that he had quite adequate survival instincts.

Most of all, if it really was Draco who attacked them in the hallway -and it was _very _hard to believe that it could have been anyone else, now that he had seen Connor admit their opponent had transfigured into a rat- a not insubstantial part of him had decided that Draco deserved what he got, however it happened.

"Harry!" Hermione hissed.

"Fine." He turned to Connor. "Did you do this?"

"Do...you really want to know?"

Harry thought about that. "No. No I don't."

When Hermione gave another exasperated gasp, Ron took over. "Look, mate, if you _did_, that ruddy pillock deserved it, I say. But think it over, see? Dumbledore is a smart guy. Twisted, yeah, sure; but he knows the score. If it was me -if I did it- I wouldn't feel bad at all, but you can bet I'd go see the Headmaster, and soon, because if you walk in and tell him what you did, and why, he's gonna try to see things your way, right? Well you saw the governors...wankers, the lot of them. And maybe Lucius started off this year in chains, but he has a load of galleons." Ron sighed. "They make people forget faster than charms do."

"So...you think I should turn myself in?"

"We didn't say that," Hermione added quickly. "We just talked it over, and we'd rather have Dumbledore helping you, than trying to catch you. If you did it."

Neville glared at her. "Why is it you're so concerned about someone getting caught now? You had _all week_ while Harry and I were in the hospital."

"No one knew!" Hermione squeaked.

"They thought it was me," Connor said. Neville stared at him, his mouth slightly agape.

"That doesn't even make sense! You're my best mate!"

"I'm...the stranger. Malfoy's had five years to do this, and he never did."

"You're defending them!" Neville was turning funny colors. "It's mad!"

"I'm not defending them," Connor sighed. "I'm just...look...maybe...just maybe they're right. I can be pretty amazing, but I hear your jails here are a...bummer."

"And you think Dumbledore can do a damned thing for you?" Neville looked very menacing indeed, as now most of the color had faded from his face, and his scar was a livid, angry crimson.

"He has been all year. Well, him and Walken."

"Walken?" Ron asked.

Connor looked at Ron sideways. "He's the one who brought me over from America. It's how I got away from Altasia the first time."

"Altasia?" Hermione was looking at him curiously now.

"After I'm gone, ask Harry about the tiger." He glanced at Hermione. "Don't you think you should drop the charm?"

"No, she should bloody well _not!"_

"Nev, chill out. I'm thinking."

Neville glared at Connor for most of the class, and when they stepped from the charms classroom into the hallway, he pulled the big American roughly aside.

"Forget it," he whispered.

"Excuse me, Mister Colier?" Dumbledore's voice echoed down the hallway. Harry, Neville, Connor, Ron, and Hermione all paused. Dumbledore paused. "I would like a word with Mister Colier, alone, if you please."

"I think you need to talk to me, as well," Neville announced.

"Do I?" Dumbledore looked to Connor.

"No. You only need a word with me. And Granger."

"Why me?" she asked, eyes widening.

Connor ignored the question and walked confidently towards Dumbledore.

"Hang on!" Ron started. "If she goes..."

Dumbledore raised his hand. "You've nothing to worry about, Mister Weasley; Miss Granger is in my hands. She possesses a skill which we may need."

"Oh," Hermione said. "_That_." She sighed. "Should I run gather some, then?"

"Please," the headmaster nodded.

Harry was thoroughly lost. Neville was almost fuming by now. "I'm _not _going anywhere!"

Connor stopped and walked back. Neville stared at him. "Just trust me, man."

Neville only shook his head, and as they turned to go back to the common room before lunch, Harry saw clearly how enraged Neville was. He was actually shaking.

Through lunch, through Temporalism, and through Muggle Studies, Harry wondered about what was happening with Connor. After class, he hurried back to the common room, but there was still no word. He did take the precaution of warning Neville and Ron to watch what they said around Natalie MacDonald.

He didn't have to worry about Neville...Neville refused to leave the dormitory. Even when they left to eat for the evening, Neville refused. Parvati asked Harry where he was, and Lavender asked _everyone_, but Neville had told the Gryffindor boys he was feeling piqued, so there wasn't much to say. When they asked where Connor was, Harry didn't even try to make something up. Hermione showed up about halfway through the meal. Ron instinctively scooted over, and she unceremoniously sat and took a piece of chicken and some rice, as though she hadn't missed half a meal.

"Hold on!" Parvati said, leaning over Harry. Harry was going to complain, but it actually felt pretty good. Hermione looked up innocently. "You're just going to sit down...without even a _pardon me?_ Where have you been?"

"I don't see how it's any of your business!"

It wasn't, but that had never stopped Parvati in the past. "It is when everyone else is gone, as well!"

Hermione looked around. "Well, I think I saw Connor by the infirmary, and as much as he and Neville carry on, how is it surprising if he's ill, too?"

"Why were you in the hospital wing?"

"Well, what chapter am I?"

"What?" Parvati blinked her large, green eyes. She had both hands on Harry's leg so she didn't fall over, and Harry didn't mind a bit.

"Well, you're writing a book, right? That must be why you want all the details."

Parvati leaned back where she belonged, though Harry didn't really want her to.

When Harry returned to the dormitory, Neville was still lying in bed, and he didn't appear to want to carry on in any kind of meaningful conversation. Harry wandered over to his bed, checked for the proper sigils on some of his things, then slumped onto the bed. He stared at the bottle that had the potion he'd gotten from his botched attempt...the one that made his head feel better. He could really use some of that, but he had no way of knowing how it would interact with the other potions he had taken recently.

Instead, he fingered the Chansonarc idly and stared at random things throughout the room. For a while, he considered going to the common room, but he knew that it would be a struggle, so he stayed where he was. Much later, he noticed his mirror was flashing. He held it up.

"Professor Lupin!"

"Remus, Harry."

"Remus then. How are you?"

"Honestly, Harry, that's my question to you. My sources in Hogwarts tell me that you've vanished the last few days."

"I uh...decided that perhaps asking to be released early was a poor choice. I slept in the hospital wing." With some surprise, Harry noticed that the mirror was again flashing blue. That had never happened before. "Remus...can I talk to you in a few moments. Something just came up."

"Of course you may. I'll be waiting, Harry." He nodded and faded from view, and a few moments later, the only face Harry was looking into was his own. A second later, Dumbledore appeared in the mirror.

"Ah, Mister Potter. How are you feeling?" Harry shrugged. "Are you well enough to meet me in my office?"

"Uh...yeah. I guess."

"Let me remind you it is now after curfew. You will need to be escorted by a prefect. I suggest Miss Granger, if you can find her?"

"I...I can do that. Should I bring anyone? Neville maybe?"

"Please do not. I will explain when you get here."

Harry struggled to his feet, placing the Chansonarc and mirror on his bed. Neville didn't even look at him. Hermione was sitting at a table in the common room, surrounded by books and arguing with Ron about something. The stopped as Harry appeared.

"Harry," she said sweetly.

"Yeah...uh...Dumbledore called me to his office. I need a prefect escort. He...uh...recommended you."

"Oh he did, did he?" Ron said. "What am I? Chopped liver?"

"Ron..." Hermione started.

"No! Why do I get left out? I'm a prefect, and I'm going!"

"I don't even know why he's sent for me, Ron," Harry began. "For all I know, Connor may have pointed the finger at us."

"I doubt that," Hermione said. Harry did too. Connor had been a mass of questions, but he hadn't ever been one to point the finger. Simply not answering questions was far more his style. "I think he said that you should find me because I know what's going on. A little."

"How do you know?" Ron asked suspiciously.

"I can't discuss it, Ron."

"Don't you trust me?"

"It's not a matter of trust! It's just..."

"That bloody unstable American asks for Hermione, _you _ask for Hermione! I-"

"Enough!" Harry said, slapping the table. Most of the common room looked at him. "Piss off!" he shouted, waving one hand dismissively in their direction. He turned fully to Ron and Hermione. "I don't care _which _one of you goes with me. It's after curfew and I need to get to Dumbledore's office. One of you needs to take me, before I find another prefect."

"We'll both go!" Ron rose.

"Ron-" Hermione started.

"Fine," Harry said. "Let's go."

Ron and Hermione led the way to the Headmaster's office in awkward silence. As they rode the stairs up, Harry busied himself wishing that he'd come alone. He hadn't seen anyone in the hallways. It would have been a good deal less aggravating than arguing with Ron and Hermione in the common room and then dealing with having to drag them both along. Maybe he _had_ gotten more patient this year, but not by that much. He knocked hesitantly on the closed door.

"Enter."

Harry opened the door. Connor looked over his shoulder at them, and Dumbledore peered around Connor. "Mister Potter. Miss Granger. Ah...Mister Weasley. Well, I see you are well-escorted."

"Harry," Connor nodded.

Dumbledore glanced at him, almost off-handedly. "Harry, I'm afraid I must ask something of you that may be unpleasant to you, and you have every right to refuse." Harry remained silent, and Dumbledore turned back to Connor. "Mister Colier, could you hand me your wand?" Connor moved, but it was a barely perceptible tensing of his muscles, and no more. Dumbledore nodded, as he gently lifted the wand from Connor's pocket. He examined it for a moment, and then handed it to Harry.

Connor made the faintest noise.

Dumbledore silenced him with one raised hand. "The less you say now, the better, Mister Colier." He noticed Harry staring at Connor's wand, then back at Connor. "Yes. An excellent spell for restraint; at least for the humans among us." He turned to Harry again. "I asked for your assistance tonight only because of how well you performed during the capture of the escaped prisoner in your third year. I need the three of you to be as diligent with Mister Colier as you were with the last guest. Our governors have chosen to remain in Hogsmead, so it will take me a bit to fetch them, and a bit longer to discuss my conversation with Mister Colier and return...I'd say at least thirty minutes. Maybe longer, but surely no less. When I return, they shall question _you,_" he poked Connor lightly. "They will doubtlessly find you guilty of the incident with Mister Malfoy and likely of that with Harry and Neville as well." He turned to Harry, Ron, and Hermione. "I need you three to pack Mister Colier's things...It is probable they will be leaving Hogwarts soon. Can I count on you?"

Ron was staring like an idiot, but Harry and Hermione glanced at each other.

"I think you can, Headmaster," Harry said.

"I'm glad we understand each other." He strode by them and rode the stairs down, while Hermione patted her side, then examined Connor.

"You heard him," Ron said.

"Don't be foolish," Hermione replied, as she prodded Connor with her wand. "Sirius was the last prisoner...we _helped_ him escape in our third year. It's obvious that's what Dumbledore wants now. _Finite Incantatum!_"

Connor seemed to relax slightly. "I still can't move," he said. Harry could see the veins standing out on his neck.

"He told us to pack Connor's things. Are you mental?" Ron was still standing motionless.

"And I'd tell you to do it," Hermione replied angrily. "Only you can't even pack your own. If you want to go back, then go back!" She tried to end the spell holding Connor several more times.

"You need to leave me. You're going to get in trouble."

"Transfigure yourself," Harry advised.

"I can't move. I'll be stuck however I come out."

"Dumbledore said this spell was great on humans. Sometimes, you just have to go with it and trust him, however much you hate it."

Connor closed his eyes. The transformation was slow; very slow, but after several long moments, a giant cat stood in front of them, balanced on his hind legs. He dropped to the floor in slow motion, gradually moving faster as the spell broke or wore off. Hermione leapt back, and Connor turned to the door. Ron was still motionless.

"Look, Ron, if you want to go back, fine. Just...stay out of our way." Harry was rarely that short with his friend, but honestly, how thick could one wizard be?

"No," Ron finally said. "No, what do you need me to do?"

"Come with me," Harry said. "Hermione, do you think you and Connor can make it to Hagrid's hut?"

"Hagrid's- are you certain about that, Harry?"

"Hagrid likes Connor. He's been to Azkaban; I think he'd rather help us than see Connor go there. Perhaps we can get a thestral, or something, since he can't fly a broom."

Connor transfigured, and Harry returned his wand. "There are only two things I need," he said, running his fingers through his hair. "First my potions...without those, I'm dead meat."

"And the second?" Ron asked.

Connor looked at Harry. "Remember what you saw the first day?" Harry remembered. He had been anxious about Connor cutting him to bits. "My trunk has a false bottom. That's in the bottom, along with some Muggle cash and a picture or two. Can you get those? Leave the rest. I just want out of here."

Harry nodded and looked at his watch. "You two get going. Ron and I will meet you in fifteen minutes." He rushed from the room, and Ron had the good sense to follow.

When they got back to the dormitory, Neville was still lying in bed, staring balefully at Harry. "What are you doing?" he asked, as Ron and Harry went straight to Connor's chest.

"No time, mate," Ron said. He'd more or less fallen into line. More than anything else, he, Harry, and Hermione had been friends for a long time, and if the two of them were in agreement, it was very reasonable for Ron to go along for the ride. It's what Harry would do, and he knew it's what Hermione would do as well. "Just gonna have to trust us. D'you trust us, Nev?"

"No."

"Well, start," Ron replied tersely. "Your mate needs our help." Ron slipped the bandolier of potions over his head. Neville was on his feet now.

"What?"

By now, Ron had the entire chest emptied onto Connor's bed. Hermione may have been right, Ron may have been lousy at packing, but he was a true miracle worker when it came to unpacking. "Accio false bottom!" The bottom of the trunk popped out and up to Ron, who caught it smoothly.

What Harry had thought was a knife the first time he had ever met Connor was actually a wand, identical in shape to Connor's, but a dull silver in color, and if Harry was correct, slightly longer as well. When he lifted it out, it felt very odd in his hand. He also grabbed the thick stack of green bills, and the single photograph, which was in a small, coppery frame. It was a normal picture, which was to say it didn't move, of a witch neither plain nor beautiful, but squarely in the area of pretty.

She had a very respectable smile and a rebellious gleam in her eye, and she almost appeared to be mocking the camera. Harry stuffed that picture in a pocket with the cash -maybe it would pad it- and the wand in another, being careful to put it in handle-down, so it wouldn't poke a hole in his pocket. Neville grabbed a bundle of leather near the top of Ron's pile. When he and Ron fled the common room, Neville was following them. Harry was not surprised.

When they arrived at Hagrid's hut, Harry knocked on the door hesitantly. His body ached as much as it ever had; even more than when he had gone through the ice on his Thunderbolt. The door opened a crack. Hagrid peeked out, saw Harry, and looked over his head.

"'Ello Harry. Ron. Is that...Neville Longbottom?"

"It's okay," came a faint voice from behind Hagrid. "He's okay."

Hagrid let them enter, then shut the door quickly. The lights were very dim and Harry noticed that the curtains facing the path up to the castle's front doors were cracked, so the lane was visible. He couldn't see any stars, and it was very dark out. He turned to the table and pulled Connor's things from his pocket.

"Why didn't you just shrink the trunk?" Hermione cocked her head to the side ad examined the photograph of the girl. Connor was looking at it as well, and stroking the wand lightly.

"Didn't think of it."

"It's too late now," Hermione replied. "They'll be along any minute." She turned to Connor, who was now holding the photograph.

He talked softly to the smiling, unmoving witch. "What happened...?" He was staring at the photograph, and he looked momentarily lost.

Harry wished he knew. "We've got to get you to the woods while we still can."

Connor took his bandolier of potions from Ron and coat from Neville. "Doesn't matter. I tried to tell you. As soon as I hit the woods, Altasia will tear me apart. I'm a dead man."

"I'll go with you," Neville said resolutely. Hagrid glanced at him, and seemed to notice the scars on his face for the first time.

He spoke slowly, while still looking at Neville. "No. If he's that dangerous, you lot better stay here. I'll go." He nodded at Fang, who was lying under a chair. "I know Fang don't look like much, but he can really get ornery, if he has to. And that works fine...as good as any spell." He peered out the window, then back to Connor. "Is your tiger bolt-proof, then?" Connor shook his head, and Hagrid took his huge crossbow down from its spot on the wall. He braced it against his foot and began winding back the string.

Harry took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He did occlumency to the best of his ability, and it sort of worked. He heard the door squeak open.

"Wait," he said. All motion around him stopped. "Take it."

"Take what?" Hermione said, fastening her coat. Despite Hagrid's command, everyone in the cottage appeared to be ready for a trip to the forbidden forest.

"The bike. Take it."

"Harry-" Connor started.

"Just do it, before I change my mind. You'll never get out of here without it."

Rom spoke from his side. "Harry, are you-"

"No," he cut Ron off. "But I don't need one or more of us killed trying to get him out of here. I'd rather lose a motorbike I don't really need than one of you. Only hurry up. They could be back any minute."

The all filed out to the bikes, where Connor rolled the black one out as far as he dared, and checked the petrol and oil. Harry took the bag from the front of his and put it on the Pingaling, and then he stuffed the Muggle cash into it. There was enough that it didn't want to fit at first, and he had to force it. Connor straddled the bike uneasily, while the others surrounded him. Neville had borrowed a piece of parchment and Hermione's Quill, and was scratching away. Ron was acting as a lookout, and Connor was tucking a rag over the bike's headlamp.

"Here they come!" Ron hissed. They were all silent while the small group of men made their way to the castle. After they walked through the door, Neville shoved the rolled up scrap of parchment at Connor.

"That's to my friend Consera, in Spain. If you can make it to her, she can probably help you."

They shook hands. "I'm sorry, man," Connor said.

"I'm not," Neville replied. He looked back to the castle. "Is he going to his office or the Gryffindor tower?"

"His office," Hermione, Harry, and Connor all answered and once.

"Reckon he's at least halfway there by now. You better go."

Connor slapped Neville on the back, hugged Hermione, and shook Harry's hand. Ron refused to even look at him. He tickled the bike and kicked the starter, and immediately the distinctive noise that gave the bike its name echoed in the supernaturally still night air.

Harry felt a wave of cold sink over him, and looked back to see a transparent Hermione. "We have to get back to the Castle, now, Harry. When they find him gone, they will come looking for him. If they find us gone as well..." she trailed off.

"Well, get going then! Look sharp!" Hagrid pushed Ron towards the castle. Ron stumbled, but started running, and Hermione hit him with a disallusionment charm at the same moment as Harry cast one at the sprinting Neville Longbottom. They crashed into the castle and dashed towards the Gryffindor common room. When they were near the top of the stairs by the portrait of the fat lady, a voice rang out.

"You there! Stop!" They all turned to see the Minister of Magic himself. He was pointing a wand hesitantly. Dumbledore reached over and pushed his arm down. "They are students, Minister."

"Students who are in the halls after curfew," Lucius Malfoy said in an oily voice. "As governors we have-"

Neville cut him off. "Sir, thank goodness I found you. I think someone has done something with Connor!"

Dumbledore looked improbably surprised. _Leave it to Neville to hand him something he hasn't thought of beforehand_, Harry thought. "Indeed? And why would you say that?"

"His things...they've been upset, as if someone has gone through them, and he hasn't been seen all day!"

"Well," replied the headmaster, "I _did _see him today. I left him in my office. I was interviewing him."

"Interviewing?" Neville scrunched up his face. Harry had to hand it to him; he hoped someone was willing to cause this much trouble for him.

Lucius Malfoy strode forward arrogantly and peered at Neville's face. "I hope you realize that you are protecting the very wizard who did...that." He ran his wand along Neville's scar.

"He had nothing to do with this!" Neville spat back. Something banged behind the adults, and they all turned, raising their wands.

"Lumos," Dumbledore whispered. The hallway was bathed in light, but there was nothing in it. Harry took this opportunity to kick Neville in the leg.

By the time Malfoy turned back to him, he was ready. "And how do you know who attacked you? Perhaps you should be naming names, so the guilty can be brought to justice."

"Well," Neville replied slowly, "It was a wizard who could turn into a rat. Do you happen to know any?"

Malfoy scowled and turned away. "That poor excuse for a wizard nearly killed my son."

"Actually," Dumbledore dug in one pocket. He looked almost child-like in the dim hallway. When he extended one hand, Harry's heart sunk a little. _No more of those, ever, _he thought. Fudge, Lucius, and the rest of the governor's looked at the unremarkable clay ball that was nestled in the Headmaster's long, thin palm. "His testimony indicated that he caught young Mister Malfoy flying a broom at night..." He looked at the four students, who were still disallusioned. "Ah. You may go. Thank you for drawing this to my attention. I feel that Mister Colier was not abducted, but I also feel that he is no longer in the castle. I too saw his trunk, and it appears he left with great haste. I fear he assumed he was in more trouble than he was. Academics aside, I know that in his old home, he was somewhat...adept at remaining out-of-site. I do wonder if we shall find him any time soon. It has been many years since I hunted anything, but I believe the proper term is _gone to ground_."

"We have aurors," Fudge said. "Our best at returning fugitives works here...keeps me well-apprised." Fudge actually smiled at that last bit.

"There are none finer," Dumbledore agreed. "And far be it from me to tell you how to do your job..."

"But?" Fudge knew Dumbledore well.

"But without criminal charges, the public may view this as a waste of ministry resources. Unfairly; of course. Personally, I'm certain you wouldn't waste resources."

"He's a lost boy. I'd be a hero," Fudge insisted.

"Again, it pains me to correct you, but in fact, Mister Colier is no longer an under-aged wizard. He is an adult. A young one, to be certain, but..."

Fudge threw his hands in the air. "Yes, whatever, Dumbledore."

Dumbledore turned to Harry again. "Do get some sleep. I hear you've been sleeping well, and that is something we must continue."

Harry nodded. That was Dumbledore-speak for "Go away." He turned away from the headmaster.

Neville wasn't done. "Mister Malfoy?" Lucius turned, astounded Neville would bother talking to him on purpose. "It something did happen to your son, that's too bad. No one's son should be beaten, or..." he gulped hard. "Or carved on. Regardless of who did it or why." Lucius couldn't bring himself to actually thank Neville, so he just nodded. Neville continued, "but rest assured, sir: Someone always catches them...and they _always_ get what they deserve, in the end." Harry didn't know whether to cheer or faint from exhaustion, and he steered Neville to the painting over the entryway to the common room.


	35. Chapter 35 Strands Upon the Cosmic Braid

** 35 - The Strands Upon the Cosmic Braid**

When Harry awoke the next morning, Connor's bed was gone. Neville had repacked Connor's trunk and moved his chest of drawers, on top of which was the American's garden, next to his own. There was no use dragging yesterday out so early in the morning, so Harry just concentrated on getting ready for class. He was almost back to speed, so that was something to look forward to.

Breakfast was non-eventful. Far too many students missed it on occasion Connor's absence to be noted, even by Parvati or Lavender. Neville ate breakfast, but sat off by himself.

Potions without Malfoy was always more pleasant. Harry still had no idea what had _really _happened to him, and he didn't care. Hermione had tried to show him another memory last night, and Harry patently refused. Connor had _something_ to do with it, or he wouldn't have fled. Malfoy was always bragging about what he could buy...well, whatever Connor -and maybe Neville- had done, Malfoy had bought and paid for, in his opinion.

Potions class was almost like being in school again; they could actually learn something. It was a mixed bag, because Neville's face was too much of a distraction, and with no Connor, people stared more than they might have otherwise. Snape ignored the scars completely. Likewise, he ignored Connor's absence. Blaise Zabini had finally produced a usable potion, though he had gotten at least five chances that Harry knew of. He sat in the back gloating and teasing Neville, until Harry finally snapped.

"Come here, Zabini. Say that to his face. I dare you."

Snape finally looked up. "One would think you'd learned your lesson by now, especially with your bodyguard...indisposed. Shut up, Potter. Stop goading my students into fights." He frowned as he swished Ernie MacMillan's potion, which sparked as it splashed in the bottle. "5 points, both of you. You should both know better than to bring this into my classroom. Either one of you."

It still stopped Blaise, though. With only the enigmatic Nott to possibly stick up for him, and Padma and Ernie staring at him, he didn't feel comfortable with the odds.

Harry made it through potions without losing any more points, and for the rest of the day, he simply kept his head low. Neville refused to talk to Hermione, Harry, or Ron unless he was forced, and didn't mention Connor, though he did pull Natalie MacDonald aside at lunch. Harry didn't hear what he said, but she fled from the great hall in tears.

While they were eating, Parvati turned to Harry. "I found out what happened to Draco," she said quietly.

"Really?" He was a little surprised that the word about Connor would be out already.

"How did you find out?" Neville said. Parvati glanced at Neville, raised her eyebrows, and then looked back to Harry.

"He was out flying a broom at night. I guess they found a broken window and pieces of it in one of the towers!"

Harry had no time for gossip, but he had to admit that he was relieved to hear nothing about Connor or, more importantly, Neville. Also, Parvati was irresistible when she had a secret. He wished she'd find a way to explain away Connor's disappearance. That is, if she even knew he was missing. She was going to soon enough, and whether he liked it or not, Harry was going to wind up in the middle of it, once again.

Defense was predictable. In fact, without Malfoy, it was almost boring. He had already done everything they were going to work on for the rest of the year. He wondered how Hermione dealt with always knowing what everyone was talking about. As far as he was concerned, it was a bit of a drag.

After class he trudged slowly back to the common room. Before he could get there, Parvati pulled him aside.

"We've not spent any real time together in forever," she said. She was absent-mindedly running her thumb over the Sky-Ball, which was highly distracting.

"And?" Harry said.

She wrapped her arms around him. Her hair was mostly tied back, but some was still lose. It tickled Harry's nose. She kissed him for a few seconds, and Harry still had enough of his mind to wonder how it was that she had such soft lips, and how every time she kissed him, it invariably shocked him, even if it was just for a moment, even though he _knew_ how soft they were.

"Let's go for a stroll, Harry. We can just...catch up."

While lying in a bed in Saint Mungo's with a numb body and severely scarred friend, Harry had very firmly resolved to break things off with Parvati. It was only through blind luck that she hadn't wound up there, with -or in place of- Neville. Now that she was in front of him, he remembered what it was that made her so attractive, besides the fact that she was so bloody beautiful, and still wanted to be around a blistering idiot like him.

Since he had come to Hogwarts, he hadn't met anyone who could calm him down like Parvati. She was like the anti-Malfoy...just _seeing_ Malfoy made him want to hex people. Walking with her was exactly what he needed to forget about the things that were driving him batty...the attack on him and Neville, the whole ordeal with mysterious American, and the vanishing Dark Lord not least among them. He took her hand.

They walked to Hagrid's hut first, where Parvati procured a note allowing them to search for Bluecap Spliners that night. She didn't notice the missing bike, and Hagrid managed to avoid mentioning Connor's flight the night before. After that, they took refuge under a large oak that was back a bit from the shore of the lake, and relished the beautiful day under the shade of its leaves. Parvati got very close, and Harry stopped his hundredth attempt to sort this year out in his head.

He was mesmerized by her perfume and proximity, and he lost track of exactly how much time they spent together, when he heard a noise he recognized immediately. A dark speck appeared in the sky, and dropped alarmingly. It was now barely higher than the roofline of the castle. He glanced at the top of Parvati's head, which was all he could see right now. She had fallen asleep kissing him, and was pressed tightly against him. Her breath was hot on his neck. The Pingaling vanished from sight and the sound of the engine died abruptly. Harry was staring at the castle. What was Connor doing back at Hogwarts? He stared at the castle, deep in thought, and was about to go see when a small brown streak shot away from the castle. It was Connor, dashing to the treeline as a catamount. Harry had never seen him in a position to really stretch out and go, and he was silently impressed. Connor could _motivate_.

Now Harry did move. There was no doubt in his mind that someone was about to be hurt. Parvati stirred.

"Harry?"

"Go to the castle," he said, somberly.

"What?"

"Get to the castle, now. If you see Dumbledore, tell him..."

"I'm not leaving you," Parvati interrupted. She was looking directly at him now.

"I just need someone to alert Dumbledore. I'm not trying to get rid of you!"

"You can cast a Patronus. Send it!" She straightened her shirt. "I already let you down once, Harry. I'm not going to do it again. I gave you a second chance. You _owe _me."

Harry did owe her. He'd be the first to admit it. He sighed and summoned the silvery stag, which snorted and pawed at the ground impatiently. "Tell Dumbledore that Connor Colier is back!" The stag just stood there, looking at him.

"You have to do it like this," Parvati said. She whispered in the stag's ear, then stood back and nodded at Harry.

"Uh...Dumbledore. Find Dumbledore." The massive silver animal spun on its hooves and galloped away.

"Alright, Harry. Lead the way."

"What?"

"I know what you're going to do. You're predictable. And I'm coming with."

"But..."

"Don't argue with me, Harry. You knew what you were getting with me."

In fact, Harry was continuously surprised by Parvati. He had no idea he'd been getting into.

They ran towards the spot where Connor had vanished, wands out and at the ready.

Dean was ready for the year to end. He was worried, to be honest. The Prophet had been saying all year that You-Know-Who wasn't really back, that some wizards were just delusional. His old man had taught him many things, but chief among them was the idea that money talked, and the wizards who agreed with You-Know-Who were pretty loaded. He reckoned the papers would make him out to be a saint, if they thought they could get away with it.

He looked up from the sketch he was working on. An impossible noise was getting louder. He knew that sound. He pushed his chair back and scanned the ground carefully, then the sky. There were only two wizards who rode that motorbike regularly, and one had disappeared mysteriously last night, and the other was staring out the window now.

Belatedly, he looked up, directly in front of the window. He actually stood there for several seconds...why would someone be riding the bike directly at the castle? That didn't make sense; it wasn't like the castle was bloody inconspicuous. It was indeed Connor riding, and when it became obvious that he was not going to turn away, Dean dove out of the way.

"Get down!" he shouted. People in the common room stared at him as though he was batty. Some looked out the window, and after seeing what he had, they dove for cover. Dean managed to wave his wand and one of the lounges slid in front of a group of terrified first years just as the window exploded inwards and Connor rode the bike through the glass and into the common room. He was on the brakes before the bike touched the floor and even though Dean had his face mostly shielded, he could still see the wheels, and he could see them turning and then locking up as Connor tried to slow the errant bike down. It appeared futile. Someone was shouting something; Dean could hear it even over the clangy rasp of the Pingaling's motor, and the common room was filled with the acrid scent of oil and petrol. There was a tremendous crash, and Dean raised his head.

A few seventh years had stopped flying motorbike parts from flying into the room, and the lounge that Dean had moved had rips and holes where bits of glass had cut into it. He could feel something warm on his leg, and looked down to see a small hole his trousers. He knew there was a stream of blood running down his leg.

Across the room, Natalie MacDonald was standing alone, wand extended and trembling. She was covered in small cuts, which were trickling blood, and bits of glass glittered from her long hair. Connor was lying on the common room floor. Around the room, people were raising their heads slowly.

"You twisted..." one of the seventh years who had kept the shattered bike from flying into the midst of the room started.

"Hold up, mate," Dean said. He scrambled to Connor, who was bleeding from an untold number of cuts. He'd learned little only about Connor when they were working on Harry's motorbike together, but one of the things he did learn was that Connor was pretty methodical. Maybe he wasn't Sherlock Holmes, but when they were repairing things, he'd never had to do anything twice, and that wasn't because he was that good.

It was because he didn't do things rashly. If he rode a motorbike into the Gryffindor common room, there was a good reason for it, and Dean wanted to know what it was.

Connor shook his head feebly. "_Nuuuuh..._" Natalie MacDonald was suddenly kneeling beside him. One of the cuts on her forehead looked deeper than the rest, and blood was dripping on Connor. Dean looked at her.

"Why didn't you take cover behind something?" he asked.

"Cushioning charm," she said in a distant voice. She glanced at the pile of smoking wreckage. The back wheel was still spinning slowly. "Not good enough." She put a tiny hand on Connor's shoulder. "Con? Can you hear me?"

Connor managed to raise his head. Blood was dripping into his eyes, and he tried to blink it out. "I cut you." He looked around. "I...I'm sorry...Harry!"

"What about Harry, mate?" Dean said softly. He was feeling a bit faint.

"He's in danger! Have to warn him!"

"Just rest a second. How's Harry in danger? He seems to be at the top of You-Know-Who's list."

"Potter _always_ thinks he's in danger. In danger of being found out, maybe."

Dean looked up. Cormac McLaggen was one bloke he could do without. Cormac was big enough to handle himself though...nearly as big as Connor. He also had connections, so Dean couldn't say what he really felt. Natalie had none of his compunctions. She placed her wand on Cormac's foot and muttered, and a brilliant magenta light flashed, along with a pop. Cormac leapt backwards and fell over, cursing.

Connor was rising to his feet slowly. His long hair was red with blood, and he was covered from head to toe in cuts. "Tosser," Dean muttered, watching Cormac fumble with his shoe. Natalie moved as if she wanted to curse Connor, but in the end, she lowered her wand and hugged him. He winced and held her with one bloody arm.

"Harry...please, you have to warn him."

"I got that," Dean said. "Warn him how?"

"I stopped in Bristol to tank up. When I reached in the bag where Harry stuffed my money, this happened." Connor held up his hand. Like the rest of him, it was covered in blood. He miraculously found a relatively un-soiled patch and wiped off the blood. He held up one finger. The tip of it was slightly mangled. It seemed odd that he could be covered in blood and showing off a tiny former-cut. In fact, Dean was fairly certain he could knit it in short order. "At first I thought I just cut it on something -a tool maybe- so I just pulled everything out, and that rat was there."

"The...rat?"

"That wizard; the one that Harry and Neville and I chased. I was going to kill him, but he got away. He didn't run away though, he just transfigured."

Neville appeared at Dean and Connor's side. "Wormtail?"

"Who's Wormtail?" Natalie asked.

"This...death eater. Harry and me and Connor almost had him."

Connor interrupted. He was trying to wipe as much blood as he could from his face. Neville had turned his attention to the students in the common room. He moved throughout the room, kneeling occasionally. He ran back to the dormitory, probably to fetch some of his infused bandages. Dean turned back to Connor.

"He told me if I cared at all about Harry, I'd better get back here, because something was going to happen to him, and it was going to happen today. He said You-Know-Who had something special planned." He looked around. "Where is he?"

"Don't know," Dean said. "Are you sure? Like...absolutely certain?"

"Would I have done this if I wasn't?" He nodded at the ruined motorbike. He gritted and pulled his jacket away from his shirt. His wand had pierced the inside pocket of his jacket and jabbed through his shirt and chest below. He winced and pulled it out with a squishing noise. It was broken near the tip, and trialing pale green sparks. Connor stared at it. He reached in a side pocket and produced a package that was wrapped in soggy parchment. It was a wand that was very similar to his, only it was silver, and intact. "You have to find Dumbledore. McGonagall. Walken. Someone. I have to get to Harry."

He had managed to remove his jacket, and he raised his shirt, exposing a dozen cuts and the hole his wand had made. It appeared to be just above his stomach. He stared at it, took several deep breaths, and then dug in the hole with his finger. Dean could see jaw muscles clench. He grabbed Connor's arm and pulled on it.

"Are you mad?" Natalie hissed.

"Get it out. Summon it."

Natalie shook her head slowly. "I..."

"Please!"

"Dean can do it!"

"Dean has to hold me down." He wiped more blood on his abused shirt. "Please."

She stared at Dean and then Connor, who nodded. Natalie hesitantly reached out. She nearly touched the wound with her wand. "_Accio wand tip_!" Connor screamed and Dean held him in a bear hug. With a gut turning snap, a small piece of sharpened wood wrenched itself free and slapped into Natalie's hand. She stared at it with a horrified look. Connor exhaled with a moan and went slack, and then there was nothing in Dean's arms, and a flash of brown ran through the portrait hole.

"Now what?" Natalie asked.

Dean turned to the common room, which still had shattered glass everywhere, skid marks on the floor, and a nasty haze of petrol, oil, and blood in the air. "Alright! Listen up!"

Harry could hear Connor's roar, which wasn't what he expected, no matter how many times he heard it. He expected thundering. What he heard was a winding, pitchy shriek.

"Connor!" He shouted. He could see the big cat swivel its head in his direction, and then a flash of orange slammed into Connor. This time, the roar was exactly what Harry expected, the nearest thing to thunder he could imagine coming from a living thing. He looked down at his wand. It suddenly seemed very inadequate. A puffing behind him reminded him that Parvati was still there. He wished she'd gone back to the castle.

As he ran, Connor and the other animagus -Altasia, Connor had called him- twisted and snapped. Connor was pathetically small compared to the other cat. It dwarfed him, and when its huge paws swung, Harry could almost hear the _woosh_. A hand on his shoulder pulled him back.

"Harry, that's a tiger."

"Yeah."

"A _tiger_!"

"Yeah." Harry continued to walk forward, and to her credit, so did Parvati.

Harry was cautious not to get within swiping range of either cat. He was pretty sure he was in leaping range, in fact, he knew he was for Connor, but both wizards seemed focused on each other. He cautiously stepped to the side, towards the tree line. Parvati was very close to him, with her wand over his shoulder.

The moment he reached the trees, the world disappeared with a clang. The two cats stopped immediately, and Harry's eyes fixed on the tall figure in the middle of the temporal bubble. Connor and Altasia transfigured as one. Harry had never seen Altasia as a wizard. He was tremendously huge, as big as any other man Harry had ever seen, except Hagrid, and covered in tattoos that mimicked his stripes. He had a bald head, and a ragged orange beard. His wand, which he was clutching tightly, was identical in shape to Connor's, only it was jet black, and huge. Connor was holding the silver wand, rather than his own, and both men had cuts and scrapes over their body. Connor looked as though he had just been run through a food processor.

A voice shouted out and a green bolt almost hit Harry. He could feel Parvati darting behind him. Voldemort slashed the air behind him and half a dozen masked wizards were knocked to the ground. "No! You'll hit the boy! He's mine!"

"Stay behind me," Harry whispered back to Parvati. "He won't let them touch you if they have to go through me." Parvati didn't reply, but she held her wand over his shoulder. Harry had his wand at the ready, but he knew how Voldemort operated. He'd talk for a while first.

Several curses struck Altasia, who seemed unaffected. He roared and transfigured. He leapt at the robed figures. Voldemort stood his ground calmly. "_Avada Kedavra!_" The tiger may have shrugged off some curses, but no one could have survived that. Voldemort was forced to step aside as eight hundred pounds of cat sailed into the group of death eaters, knocking several to the ground. A few weren't moving after the tiger had fallen on them, but that didn't seem to faze Voldemort. He stared at them disdainfully, and turned back to Harry. Connor had worked his way in between Harry and Voldemort. The dark lord looked up, and almost casually cast a spell at Connor.

Connor _was _handy with a shielding charm, but not only was he using a wand that was not his own, Harry didn't even know what the spell was. How could you block a spell you'd never seen? Regardless, some spells just looked evil. Connor was radiating a brownish glow and gasping.

Voldemort was watching him curiously. "I must admit, I am...curious. You're not even a mudblood; You're just mud." He paused. "Yet that spell would have killed most wizards swiftly. If it will give you a better death, know that I will study your body, to see why you fared better than a real wizard." He looked at Harry. "This is a lesson. You must prize knowledge, Harry." He pointed his wand towards Parvati. "Spare her, if you truly care. She doesn't want to see you die. Bring her forth. Let her die first." He smiled chillingly. "That is what mercy is, Harry."

Connor had dropped to one knee now, leaning over the silver wand. His blood-soaked hair was sticking to his cheeks or hanging limply. As Harry watched, he kissed the silver wand and whispered to it reverently. Then he transfigured. He leapt at the Dark Lord, shrieking again. Several of the death eaters stepped back, which they hadn't done when Altasia had leapt. Connor's roar was simply too disconcerting. Voldemort actually looked momentarily confused, and then he stepped forward, raised his wand, and a silver shaft of light extended from the tip. It went in just in front of the big cat's belly, and exited just between its shoulder blades. Connor went instantly limp, and Voldemort stepped to the side and swung his wand as though he was swinging a whip. Connor's lifeless body swung as if tied to the dark lord's wand and slammed into the ground. When Voldemort turned, he sported several long gashes on his face. Connor had given him one last gift. With a leer he pointed his wand at his face, and the gashes closed. He cast another spell that seemed to suck the blood from his skin. The Ex Nihlo wizard had still left long, white scars along Voldemort's cheek and down his neck. In Harry's opinion, it was an improvement.

They stared at each other for several moments. Then Harry spoke. "You're going to kill me, aren't you?"

"Yes, Harry Potter. I am."

"Do I get a last request then?"

"Of course, Harry. I am civilized."

"Can I have a bit of chocolate?" Some of the death eaters laughed, then. Voldemort did not.

"I forget you are a child, Harry. If only one in ten of my followers had your...determination."

He extended his wand and Harry felt a tiny tug. A small package, a chocolate frog card Harry had been carrying since before coming to Hogwarts, floated in front of him. He took it slowly, and opened it very deliberately. He captured the frog before it hopped away. He didn't really feel like a sweet, but if there was ever a time to fake it, this was it. He was holding his breath as he looked at the card. It was his last hope. "Dumbledore," he said with a gasp. The portrait of Albus Dumbledore stared up at him. "Wish he was here now," Harry observed. He looked up. "D'you collect?" Voldemort looked on with disgust. "I do," Harry said. He slowly pulled the stack of magical wizarding cards from their spot in his inside pocket. He put the Dumbledore card on top, then fanned them out, and held them up. "Meet Lord Voldemort," he said loudly. "Darkest wizard in a hundred years." He leaned back and quietly whispered to Parvati. "_Banish them_."

The death eaters watched him warily but didn't cast any spells. One of the men, or women, that Altasia had crushed moaned softly. The rest ignored it.

Harry barely even had to toss his cards. Parvati's timing was very good, and she banished the cards as he let go of them. The deck of Weasley's Wizarding Cards flew directly at the dark wizard, who managed to pick a few off with well-placed curses. Harry could hear dozens of faint voices hooting and hollering, and tiny curses covered Voldemort with small bumps, cuts, and burns, primarily in the face. Small cries of "take that!" and "Here's a good one!" drifted back to the Death Eaters, and Harry's friends. The most frightening magical figure of some very, very long memories swatted and kicked at flying wizarding cards spouting infinitesimal curses. Finally, Voldemort shrieked "_Incendio!_" and a balloon of flame torched most of the cards. A mostly-destroyed Morgana could be heard to say "It was worth it!" as she drifted to the floor and curled into a pile of black ash.

Harry has used the distraction to stun several death eaters. Voldemort was absolutely livid, and he turned on Harry, flicking his wand, almost as though casting was a bother. Harry performed a shielding charm and waited for the end.

It never came. Parvati was breathing heavily in his ear. "Harry?" she said softly. "Harry, tell me I stopped it!"

Parvati had shielded him at the same time he had shielded himself! Harry had no idea whether she had used the same charm as he had, but she had either helped or straight up saved his life. Voldemort was so mad now that his wand tip was smoldering and smoking. Before he could cast another spell, a thrumming resonated through the bubble. Ambrose Walken appeared in a column of golden mist, holding the hand of Daphne Greengrass, a Slytherin.

Daphne?

Walken raised his wand just in time to deflect a curse, and Daphne cast three in rapid succession. It was only then that Harry realized that he was actually seeing Minerva McGonagall as she must have looked when she was his age.

Walken pointed his wand at Voldemort. _"Lapsare!"_ A beam of blue light enveloped Voldemort, and now instead of impossibly fast, he merely appeared _improbably _fast. Walken looked back at Minerva and Harry. "That spell will empower whatever he casts!"

More and more chimes rang out, and figures spread around Harry; figures that he at first didn't recognize, until he saw the long, flowing black hair of Cho Chang, who'd dragged Michael Corner along with her, and the golden-flecked mane of Padma Patil, who was standing next to Luna Lovegood. In the excitement, Harry had enough time and clarity to muse that he'd never noticed that Padma was left-handed, and Parvati, right. Ron stepped into the bubble with Ginny in tow, and Hermione with Dean. Ernie Macmillan stepped in with Kingsley Shacklebolt, and far to his right, Susan Bones appeared with Neville Longbottom. Every one of the temporalists-in-training had come, except Nott, and he was a Slytherin.

Innately, Harry understood that there would be a moment of talking. He wasn't sure how; maybe because that was how it always happened in the movies.

Voldemort held a hand up. "I don't want to spill wizard blood." He gazed at his death eaters, who were shuffling uneasily. "We must give them a chance to remember what they are." One laughed harshly. Harry was pretty certain it was Bellatrix Lestrange. Voldemort stared at Neville. "Interesting. Maybe I'll use that in the future."

"I know I will!" The death eater cried. Now Harry was certain it was Bellatrix. The death-eaters were spreading out. It would make them harder to hit, but the D.A. had been going a different route. Harry had the feeling he was about to see if it would pay off.

"So," Walken started conversationally, his wand up. "Tom Riddle?"

"I am Tom no longer!"

"Right, right. Funny though."

"Exactly _what_ is funny?" Voldemort asked. Harry kind of agreed. _Funny _wasn't a word he would use to describe this situation. It wasn't even close to a word he'd use.

"How you started out after immortality; fifty years later...here I am a handsome devil, and there you are..." Walken paused. "Well, frankly, you look like a snake's arse."

Voldemort took a very deep breath. Harry took it as a bad sign.

He also realized the temporalist was doing a complex wand motion and had been, very subtly, for some time. Finally, he swung his wand around to the students. "_Echo!_" Walken shouted, and random duplicates appeared throughout the bubble.

The death eaters had started off out-numbering the students, but now the two sides were approximately even, and as the multi-colored curses, hexes, and jinxes flew, Harry was astonished that the students were using what they had practiced for so long in D.A.. The older wizards, perhaps over-confident, quickly started to panic as the teams of school-aged students ground them down, working as two-man teams where one would defend and the other, attack. Nearly half the death eaters had been disabled before they collapsed into some kind of formation. The students dodged the curses from Voldemort, who had been slowed down to the point where it was possible now. One last chime announced the arrival of another temporalist, and Harry glanced around. Theodore Nott dashed from a cloud of white and gold, holding the hand of the only man Voldemort ever feared; Albus Dumbledore. Dumbledore immediately stunned three death eaters and Nott pushed him out of the way of a killing curse, which struck Dean square in the chest. The students attacked as one, and a scant handful of seconds later, Voldemort was the only death eater left standing. He had a black shield in one hand and shouted at he held something aloft. "I have all the time I need!" He tossed the time bomb and jabbed through the air with his wand, pulverizing the small sphere of glass as it passed in front of him.

"No!" Walken shouted. Harry braced himself. What would it feel like? He was guessing apparation, only worse. When the curses didn't stop, Voldemort started to change. He now had a wide-eyed look that Harry couldn't believe; not fear, but desperation, perhaps? Voldemort spun his wand over his head and a line of flame snaked out. Dumbledore held his wand up and a ring of green circled the flames. Voldemort shouted and moved his wand in a dizzyingly complex pattern.

A moment later, Harry was laying on someone, wondering how his ears got turned inside-out and feeling like he'd just gone a round with Dudley. He belatedly reached his wand and swung it about wildly. Wherever the death eaters had gone, it wasn't here.

"It didn't work!" Walken shouted from somewhere off to his right. Harry looked up. Walken was hugging McGonagall, spinning her around with his hands in an indecent place. "It didn't work, Minnie! I've never been so happy to fail...ever!"

"Harry!"

Apparently he was on top of Parvati. He rolled over and kissed her intensely. She had been there the whole time...he'd been shielding them, and she'd been casting things at the death eaters.

"I wonder how he broke that bubble?" Walken mused, still holding McGonagall off the ground. "I'm going to have to research that." He looked for Dumbledore, who was looking at Connor's body. In the excitement Harry had forgotten about Dean, but he remembered now.

"Dean!"

"What?" came a voice from his left.

Harry looked toward the voice. "You're alive!"

"Decoy, I guess," Dean puffed. "I saw it too. Kinda odd, that's for sure. You don't get to see yourself bite it too many times."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "That was some spell." At that moment, he noticed Connor. Dumbledore had transfigured him back to a human, and all Harry could see were his booted feet. Harry struggled to his feet and helped Parvati rise, and then motioned for her to wait. He slowly stepped over to where the American lay. Parvati tried to follow him, but he held her back with an extended arm. "You don't want to see this," he said. The teachers, along with Dean, Dumbledore, and Harry blocked off the grizzly scene.

The hole that Voldemort's curse had made looked truly hideous, and he was drenched, as if all the blood that was in his body had fallen on his shirt or the ground around him. Neville was kneeling by his friend's side. "I do wish he'd have stayed away," Dumbledore muttered. He looked up at the students behind him, as if seeing them for the first time. "Please allow Professor Shaklebolt to escort you back to the castle," He said loudly, turning and shooing the students away with his hands.

"Harry!" Dean protested. "He was my mate, too!"

Dumbledore looked to Harry, who nodded slightly. "Mister Potter, Mister Longbottom, and Mister Thomas...if you could assist us?" He turned to Shaklebolt. "If you could lead the rest to the infirmary to have them checked out? Make certain Poppy knows dark magic was used."

Kingsley nodded. "Certainly, Albus."

"I tried so hard, Albus," Walken said, shaking his head. "I..." he shook his head again. He had set McGonagall down. He knelt on one knee next to Connor. "I brought him halfway around the world! Hogwarts was the safest place I could think of! Even when he became a danger to the other students...I was watching! He should have been even safer away from me...I mean...they could track me, but..."

"He only came back to warn Harry," Neville said without looking up.

Harry looked up. "I only came here because he did...I saw him come back and..."

Walken pulled the silver wand from below the body.

"Put that down!" Neville hissed. "It's his!"

"It's Kate's, and he loved her more than he loved himself. You weren't his only friend, Longbottom. I knew them both before you even started school." Neville was momentarily silenced.

Walken checked Connor's pockets, until he pulled something soggy from one on the back of the American's blood-soaked jeans. He laid it on the ground and tapped it with his wand, and it slowly restored itself. It was the picture of the witch that Harry had retrieved earlier. He tucked it in his breast pocket. Then he ran his wand over Connor, slowly removing much of the blood in a manner that looked similar to the spell Voldemort had used, only Voldemort's spell had done its work in seconds. When Connor was cleaned up a little, Walken rose to his feet. He saw Altasia's limp form a bit away.

There was nothing magical about the kick Walken delivered to the dead tiger animagus. Harry thought his professor might have broken his foot, though. Then Walken pulled the silver wand and pointed it at the corpse. "_Celero!_" A pale red light enveloped it, and it decayed before Harry's eyes. Not as though it had been disintegrated; more like it rotted and fell apart, very quickly. When there was nothing but bones remaining, Dumbledore placed one thin hand on Walken's shoulder. Walken shouted and redoubled his efforts, and gradually, even the bones faded to dust. He finally stopped and stared at them, and then with a curse, kicked the pile of fine white grit, scattering it roughly. Then he turned and tucked the wand into Connor's boot, and patted him on the shoulder. He pulled his own wand and cast a spell Harry couldn't hear. Connor's body vanished into a silvery-black cocoon, and Walken looked at Dumbledore and nodded. Dumbledore raised his own wand and the body levitated off the ground.

Harry turned to Neville. "I'm sor-"

"He came back for you," Neville repeated. "He didn't have to. He knew he was as good as dead if he did. He still thought you were worth it." Neville looked directly at him. That bloody scar rattled Harry fiercely. "You know what that means?" Harry shook his head slowly. "You'd better make it worth it."

Dean looked as if he wanted to say something, but couldn't. Likewise, McGonagall shook her head silently.

What could be said?

Harry had decided very quickly that he hated funerals. He didn't want to be at this one anymore, and he didn't ever want to go to another one. Fat chance, that, with Voldemort on the loose. The icing on that rather pitiful cake was a headache that no amount of occlumency could dull.

Hagrid was off by himself, and there was a hazy blotch behind him. Harry stared at it as he pondered the way things had gone this year. He knew he was spacing off, because one moment Parvati was sitting beside him, and the next time he looked Ginny Weasley was there. He hadn't even seen Parvati slip away. He looked around. There were certainly a lot of people for an unpopular American's funeral. Some of them he didn't even recognize, and they didn't look like the kind of friends Connor would have.

And the headache was really getting bad. He couldn't understand what whomever was speaking was actually saying right now...It was all a dulcet monotone.

The blob behind Hagrid was getting more and more solid. It looked familiar somehow, and Harry watched it for a while. Perhaps it was a new ghost, or something. It seemed way too big, but Harry would be the first to admit he didn't know everything about being a ghost. Even when he was briefly interested, he hadn't learned much. After a few minutes of wracking his brain for a memory he just couldn't get ahold of, he shifted his gaze to the area where the Hogwart's faculty were. Someone was missing. Several people were, in fact. Snape, for one, though that was hardly a surprise. There was no love lost between the American and Snape. There were others missing as well. Dumbledore wasn't talking yet, but he wasn't sitting with the rest of the staff, so it was coming up. A stranger was sitting next to Professor Sinestra; a short, pudgy man, and Harry tried to distract his aching head by figuring out who he was.

He absently reached into his robe pocket. There was something there he didn't recognize, so he pulled it out and glanced at it. His headache was now close to torture, and he pressed on his eyes, hoping that would alleviate some of the pain. It didn't. He changed track and squeezed his temples.

"We'll be there, Harry," said Ron. At least he was pretty sure it was Ron. Well, maybe it could have been Ron. Harry wasn't sure, because he was still staring at the locket he had taken from the cavern the night Dumbledore had died. He had just been thinking something. What was it? He was rubbing his head the way he did when he had non-scar-related pain, but it didn't really hurt. He slowly dropped his hand.

He felt like he was coming out of a fog, somehow. "What?" he replied.

"At your aunt and uncle's house," said Ron. "And then we'll go with you wherever you're going."

Harry held his hand in the air, staring at the spots where the sunlight created tiny silver explosions. In the end, he had held onto this; Dumbledore had entrusted it to him. "No-" said Harry quickly; he had to think for a second to determine what Ron was on about. With a flash, it came to him...He had not counted on this; he had meant them to understand that he was undertaking this most dangerous journey alone.

"You said to us once before," said Hermione quietly, "that there was time to turn back if we wanted to. We've had time, haven't we?"

"We're with you whatever happens," said Ron. "But mate, you're going to have to come round to my mum and dad's house before we do anything else, even Godric's Hollow."

"Why?"

"Bill and Fleur's wedding, remember?"

Harry looked at him, startled; the idea that anything as normal as a wedding could still exist seemed incredible and yet wonderful.

"Yeah, we shouldn't miss that," he said finally.

His had closed automatically around the fake Horcrux, but in spite of everything, in spite of the dark and twisting path he saw stretching ahead for himself, in spite of the final meeting with Voldemort he knew must come, whether in a month, in a year, or in ten, he felt his heart lift at the thought that there was still one last golden day of peace left to enjoy with Ron and Hermione.

**[AN]**

**Well, what do you think? I actually wrote the end to this about the same time as the beginning, all those years ago (it started as a year 5 fic, and you can tell in places). When I finally got this far in the story, the end wasn't really what I wanted, so I did a pretty thorough re-write. Did you get it? Not get it? If you've been skipping the feedback, now is the time to actually give some. Thanks for sticking with it, or discovering it. Every favorite, review, or story alert convinced me to keep going. Now that it is all over I can finally focus on some of the other million ideas I have floating around that are actually mine. I truly enjoy talking about my writing with anyone who is actually interested, so I don't mind an email or message. I will write more fanfic (it's how I unwind between my own projects) but nothing this long, ever again. If I have any talent, it is in short stories and honestly, I write mostly to create the people.**

**Beyond that, it is not goodbye, it is just goodnight.**

**Pat McClellan**

**[/AN]**


	36. 1 Vernon in Love

**[AN] **This is totally against the rules. I had planned to do this all along, since these stories seldom use a point of view other than Harry's, and I think exploring some of the other characters might give the universe some awesome depth. I will do it until they complain, then I will stop. **[/AN]**

**Chapter 1.5**

Vernon Dursley was an immensely practical man, and proud of it. From his professional life -every one needed drills...they just never considered it- to his personal life; specifically his approach to that greatest of thorns in his brow: The Bloody Potter Boy. The potter boy represented everything he hated; that whimsical "wish and make it so" life and the outlandish freaky friends with their outlandishly freaky ways, and still he tolerated The Boy. Why? Vernon Dursley knew at some point the boy may be worthwhile. Not ever on his own merits, of course; more in terms of a currency that you had to feed occasionally.

Still, Vernon had his limits. The small parcel in the top drawer -the half-height one with his wife's unmentionables- was only there because of his deep adoration of Petunia. In his mind, the stick and bauble were a waste of space, and they should just be rid of them and use the space for something more productive, like that scandalously inappropriate lacy thing he'd gotten Peteunia for their last anniversary.

Still, the parcel served its purpose. Occasionally, when The Boy was keeping a low profile and Vernon needed to get properly angry (Vernon felt he was only at his best when somewhat riled..."keeping a hone" was how he like to think of it) he had only to open the drawer and examine that stupid stick. After a mere moment of imagining the nonsense that so-called-magic entailed, he was ready to stab his own son. The real one, not The Boy.

In Vernon's opinion, that was not an entirely bad thing either. Petunia spoiled him, this was evident even to his father, and keeping a hone one his love for the dear lad would help him turn out mercifully normal...which meant "nothing like The Boy."

Today, when Vernon had felt the need for a hone, he had opened the drawer to find...an empty space. He reluctantly dug through all the silky and cotton-y things, only to admit to himself that finally it wasn't there. He'd never admitted to Petunia that he even knew about it, so he couldn't ask where it was. He rifled through the other drawers, just to make sure. Nothing. For a week or more he let it go...it had been almost a month since he had seen it last...a lot could have happened in a month. Worst case scenario involved The Boy.

Finally, after almost a month after it vanished, he could stand it no more.

"Petunia, darling?"

"Mmmm?" Petunia answered but did not stir from her place on the bed.

"The...package in your drawer...I was dealing with laundry the other day, and I couldn't help but notice..."

There was a long pause. She rolled to one bony elbow. "Package?"

Vernon considered what he was about to say very carefully. "You know...the small bag? Whatever it was, if The Boy stole it..."

"No," she interrupted. "It was just a hunk of wood and some costume jewelry that belonged to my sister. I threw them out. They've wasted space in our house long enough."

Vernon had actually quite fancied the bauble. He nodded slowly. "The Boy wouldn't have wanted them?"

"Who cares?" She flopped back down.

And that was why Vernon Dursley loved his wife.


	37. 2 Remus Sees a Sign

**[AN] **This is totally against the rules. I had planned to do this all along, since these stories seldom use a point of view other than Harry's, and I think exploring some of the other characters might give the universe some awesome depth. I will do it until they complain, then I will stop. Also, I forgot to upload this last month. Sorry.**[/AN]**

**Chapter 2.5**

"I still don't see why you have to tell the boy _everything_!" Molly Weasley complained, thumping her pewter cup on the table for emphasis. "Hasn't he been through enough?"

"I don't tell him everything," Remus replied, wearily. Molly was a powerful witch, a dedicated mother, and a loyal friend, but sometimes she was also a tremendous pain. "I'm simply keeping him involved."

"Involved in what? Order matters? The affairs of grown-ups? Things over which he has no control?"

"Involved in _life,_ Molly! If we don't keep him occupied and force him to interact with the world, he may very likely withdraw completely. You can't blame him; his life this far has been less than pleasant. The more chances you give him to mull over the reality of his situation, the more likely he is to grow despondent, and I for one couldn't really blame him."

"Then by all means use him to clean, and lay down your wards, and do busy work! There's no need to involve him in the matters of us adults! Let the boy have a childhood!"

"He's already been forced to grow up, Molly; we expect him to act like one, we may as well treat him as if he was."

"If you ask me," a flat and toneless voice drawled from the doorway, "the boy has never acted 'grown up'."

"I don't recall asking you, Severus." Remus replied without looking at the owner of that voice. Severus Snape was another person Remus could do without for twenty-eight and a half days out of any given month.

"Funny," said the Hogwarts Potions Master acerbically. "How selective you Gryffindors seem to be when it comes to the opinions of others! Why, it was only the last full moon that you valued my opinion tremendously."

"Knock it off, Severus," Molly scolded sharply. Most people would have been treated to some sort of sarcastic remark from Snape, but most people weren't Molly Weasley. Snape slunk from the room, and she turned back to Remus. "It isn't if he can actually _make_ decisions, is it? Let the boy have a childhood, and let _us_ worry about the adult matters! You're only laying the worry upon his shoulders…can't you see that?"

"Molly, Harry has told me more than once that he feels as if he's not really in control of his life, and he's felt that way even before the ordeal at the ministry-and after-which only made things worse. You know as well as I do that he's probably not going to make any real decisions for us, so why not let him at least feel as if he has some say in the matter? Besides, he needs to start thinking critically. Voldemort won't rest, Molly."

"I know, I know." She frowned, and Remus noticed a few new lines in her already weathered face. "Can't he be Harry for just a bit longer? Does he have to start now?" The look on her face and the tone of her voice reminded Remus of why he put up with discussions like this. It was true that Molly Weasley could be bossy. She was also stubborn, opinionated, and not afraid to discus those opinions aggressively. The very bottom line, however, was that Molly Weasley loved Harry potter very much; as much as Remus, as much as Dumbledore, perhaps as much as his own parents had, and what Remus was asking her to do was just as difficult on her as if he'd been asking it of one of her own children. Remus took her hands in his and leaned over the table.

"I don't like this any more than you do, Molly," Remus agreed sullenly. "From now on, we have to consider Harry perpetually at risk, either from Voldemort and his followers, or from himself. The boy is strong; so strong, but pushed to the very edge. We've got to keep him moving forward and keep his morale high enough to allow him to prepare for what he must do, whatever that is."

"I know, Remus. I know."

"If that means telling him more than we'd perhaps like, or allowing him some danger in the name of letting him do things on his own, then we must get used to it."

"I know. I'll never have to like it!"

"I don't expect you to. When I think of our days in Hogwarts…why, short of being torn limb from limb by a werewolf, the worst thing _we_ had to worry about was whether we'd get caught gallivanting around after curfew…" Remus sat back and sighed, looking from Molly to the swirling patterns in his tea.

"What do you see?" she asked, switching the topic. He squinted.

"I see a great big eye looking back at me…now what's that represent? I forget." He paused, looking closer. "It just blinked at me! Bloody hell! That must be a…a portent, or something. And look, every time I squint, it squints back! I'll have to research this right away."

Molly Weasley chuckled in spite of herself. Trust Remus to be able to make light in a time composed almost entirely of shadows.


	38. 3 A Matter of Honor

**[AN]I totally forgot to post this last week. I'm an evil bastard.[/AN]**

**Chapter 3.5**

Ginny Weasly pocketed her wand. She'd been dodging her mum, her brothers, and at times, other visitors as they came and went. The hallway was far brighter after Grimmauld Place had gotten a proper run-through, and it was far more difficult to simply skulk through shadows now. There were hardly any shadows left. Something thudded behind the door just in front of her, and she slid to a stop with uncanny precision. She darted down a hallway and slid against a door just as the one she had been in front of opened stealthily.

There were times she cursed her slim frame, but this wasn't one of them. She exhaled completely and squished against the door. She sensed rather than saw Ron scrutinizing the hallway. After several moments, he scuttled through the door and down the hallway Ginny had moments ago been walking through. She waited until a few moments after she heard his last footsteps, and then tiptoed to the room...Bill's room.

Ron had tossed it well; that much she could tell. Bill was neat. Bill was orderly. Bill was predictable. Ron was careful, but he simply wasn't capable of putting things back where they belonged. Things were arrayed neatly throughout the room, but once you got used to the way Bill did things, the way Ron did them stuck out like a wax wand. Here a chair was out of place, over there, the desk drawers were unevenly shut. Even the huge bed was slightly askew. Ginny meandered through the room, straightening things. She didn't know if Bill saw these things as immediately as she did, but if he did, he was assuredly capable of ignoring them by now. It wasn't like this was the first time Ron had rifled a room.

When she was done setting things right she cracked the door and surveyed the hallway. When she was certain Ron wasn't coming back, she stepped back to the bookcase. It was, of course, one area Ron ignored completely. She scanned the fourth shelf up and paused on the one entitled "A History of Lost magical Treasure Troves." She tapped it experimentally and tilted it out. The book dropped to one side and opened. The inside was hollow. She tilted the book to one side and a few sweets trickled out.

Ginny unwrapped one and savored it. She was _really_ going to have to cut down, or she wouldn't be cursing her thin frame for much longer. She carried the book to the bed and poured out a few more bits of candy. Then she considered the small pile, and how much Ron was likely to leave her, should he find the stash, and poured a bit more onto the pile. Finally, she closed the book and returned it to its spot upside down. She sat on the huge bed for a bit, savoring an _Incredibly_ _Long-Lasting Lozenge_. When it was about gone, she tugged at her necklace.

When she was young, her father had given her something he had scrounged up and somehow had repaired...a tiny watch on a necklace. Such things certainly weren't stylish...any more in wizarding circles than in muggle ones...so she only wore it when she was fairly certain she wouldn't run into anyone other than her very closest friends. She studied the tiny timepiece. Ron, like Bill, was a creature of habit, and for that matter, so was her mum.

Molly would prepare lunch at noon. Ron would wait only long enough for her to finish, devour it, and by one thirty -two at the latest- he would be hungry enough begin his next round of searching. He would hit this room by three in the afternoon. Ginny had spoiled her appetite with sweets, but it was now almost one in the afternoon. She carefully took a portion of a wrapper from a chocolate frog (Ptolemy) and set it on the floor directly under "A History of Lost Magical Treasure Troves," and stepped back to avoid her work from a suitable distance.

Ron would have to be an utter twit to miss that. Well, perhaps he was an utter twit, but she didn't think he'd miss a clue so obvious. Not with sweets at stake.

Oh, sure, she could have just told him where they were, but their family didn't work that way. Fred and George could only very occasionally gift anyone directly with something. The candy had gone to Bill, because you couldn't just be giving everything away. Ginny had found it and liberated it from Bill, who almost positively pretended not to notice. As much as Ginny may have wanted to simply rub Ron's nose on the book, it was best for him to find it on his own.

After all, it was a matter of honor.


	39. 4 A Very Important Hat

**[AN] How about if I give you this one early, as penance for forgetting the last one? Sounds fair. Plus, who doesn't like the hat?[/AN]**

**Chapter 4.5 - A Very Important Hat**

The sorting hat was about as giddy as it could ever get, considering that it was a hat. It was also a sad fact of its condition that it wasn't exceptionally tremendous about telling time. It wasn't too shabby when it came to observing, however, and activity in the headmaster's office picked up markedly around the time it got to have its yearly moment of glory. Of course the hat, which this year had christened itself "Martin," would get somewhat worked up over every meeting, but being a hat, it would invariably soon forget. Martin-for-now forgot a lot, not because anything was fading, or had been done improperly, but because it was very, very old. Even the name "Martin" would likely only last a few years, and then it was on to something new.

For most of the year, it worked on its song for the next sorting. The gaps it filled by fondly remembering the students who had worn it; the one thing for which its memory seemed eidetic. It could remember without pause every staff member -even the headmaster- and even the parents, grandparents, and great-grand parents, going back to the founders themselves. The headmaster's grandmother, for example, had been one of the most naïve students Martin-for-now had ever placed. Gryffindor himself had been almost foolishly brave...probably all that time in France with rest of those mounted ponces, and Rowena Ravenclaw...well..._she_ was a minx. Deep down. Perhaps quite deep. But the hat knew. It always knew. Yes, it knew quite a lot, for a hat.

"Well, Jillian," the headmaster said, lifting the hat gently from its stand and examining it carefully. After a bit, he rested it on his head gingerly.

"Was I Jillian?"

"For quite some time," the head master nodded and the hat flopped gently. "Before that I believe you were Bartholomew."

"I like that. I'm Martin now, though," the hat announced.

"Martin..." Dumbledore mused. "Not bad. I rather like the sound of that. Marty the Sorting Hat! It does have a sort of a ring to it, does it not?" The headmaster paused, but Martin-for-now was somewhat distracted, digging in his head. The headmaster was _so_ interesting. "Tell me Martin," he trailed and waited for the hat to respond.

"Eh?"

"Would I still be a Gryffindor, at long last?"

The hat considered this. "It would be tough," Martin-for-now finally admitted. "Even when you were fresh, you were well-suited to all the houses. I suspect you'd have been on the list you asked of me earlier. If you are brave enough to ask for it, Gryffindor is probably as apt a spot as any."

"But?"

"It is the house to which you were most suited then and least suited now."

The headmaster though about that. "I rather felt I had conquered my fear."

"You have," Martin-for-now agreed. "But if I may be so bold..." The hat waited. It knew that Dumbledore was capable of creating a new hat. Perhaps not one so marvelous, that had taken four _very_ accomplished witches and wizards, but one less apt to speak out of line.

"You have nothing to fear from me. I suspect you see my plans for another sorting hat. Merely an academic pursuit."

That was the truth. The hat could spot any lie. "You love much, headmaster. The man who loves, fears. It is the nature of things."

The headmaster considered that. "You _are_ wise."

"For a hat," Martin-for-now humbly added.

"For any of my associates!" The headmaster removed Martin-for-now. Curiously enough, the headmaster seemed to be telling the truth. He truly viewed the hat as an actual associate. Martin-for-now allowed a small measure of pride for that.

"Well, are you ready to become famous?"

"Famous, headmaster?"

"Marty, what you do now for these new students will shape the rest of their lives."

"When you put it like that, headmaster..."

"They trust you. We all trust you. I trust you. And like you said, some are like me...they could succeed in any house. Let us make some fond memories, shall we?"

"Oh indeed, headmaster," Martin-for-now heartily agreed. It had already forgotten its momentary flush of panic. Hats didn't feel panic, anyway, and Martin-for-now was a good hat.

The students were very much the same as the students any year, though he did sense more fear than normal. Fear of the Perfect Slytherin. The hat didn't like to think his name, so that was about as close as it came. They wanted the normal things, and at least half of them were thinking the house they wanted so hard, it made it easier. Children were honest creatures...for the most part they sincerely seemed to want the house that fit them anyway.

Then a different student came. He was...old. Interesting, but not entirely in a pleasant way. He had done some naughty things. The Hat considered him carefully. Putting him with the Ravenclaws was out of the question. He was clever, but in a feral way, like a wild animal that one had to mind all the time. Likewise, he wouldn't make an exceptional Slytherin. Those two houses were closer than either one of them liked to admit, and neither was in him. He would have made a fine Hufflepuff, but Martin-for-now got the nagging feeling the boy didn't _want_ to make friends, and that wasn't for Hufflepuff; not for Hufflepuff at all. Many students would feel honor-bound by the hat's placement to be a friend to the stranger. They might become close, and this student felt a bit like a walking fire. Was he brave? The hat dug through his memories. For the first time in nearly half a century, the hat didn't want to sort a student. The choice was clear, though. The headmaster trusted Martin-for-now though. The students trusted it.

"Gryffindor!"


	40. 5 A Few Short Notes

**[AN] Very late. Sorry. Believe it or not, I struggled with what to write here, since in the beginning, I was mimicking JKR and had a hard time finding anything relevant which I had not written about in the chapter. I'm actually pretty happy with these. [/AN]**

**Chapter 5.5 - A Few Short Notes**

Dear Mum

Just look at these notes I took for first day. They are even in different colors. I had to write with a borrowed quill so they may not look the same as this letter. I'm sure you know, they have me in an advanced class too. You don't have to reward me, but if you really want to, I'd take some pumpkin pasties or your famous triple-treacle-tarts.

Ron

P.S. If you want to send some for Ginny I will get them to her.

.

.

Dear Mum and Dad;

Classes started off well; even though they thought I couldn't do it, I found it for the most part to be easier than the second half of last year! Now I am in my element, as this year the teachers are expecting each pupil to focus on an area and master it. I feel very comfortable with my educational strategy and in the way I have tied together the research for each of my classes.

I found this fossil near the lake (remember we _do _have a giant squid, so that may not be as exceptional as it sounds). I have charmed it to play the my favorite three selections of Peer Gynt. Suite number one turned out better than I'd hoped! I used it because for some reason it made me think of what I'd see in the hall...perhaps it was the sparkling! I have identified the creature as Margaritifera Argentus. I'm not sure on that last bit. I suspect the book I found referencing it was written by a partially literate malacologist. Hagrid told me their pearls were iridescent silver! If I find time between classes, I will definitely be searching for that!

I have only one class that might present an issue, and that is because they sprung it on me very late. Temporalism is like reading about chess games, and I may turn to my friend Ronald for a hand, if it proves to be overwhelming. I understand now why the text was an amalgamation of books, as the practitioners all appear to have been very slightly (or not so slightly) mad. I did a bit of research today; not much, just a randomly-chosen cross-section of the first score pages of three different books, and not only did they not agree, they seem to have been carefully crafted so as to make the authors seem _more sane_. Only time will tell if our professor is the same way, though I suppose mucking with time magic all day is bound to have it's toll.

I just realized I wrote a pun!

I don't have long to write tonight, so I will have to cut it short here. Hope all finds you well, and remember, don't trust any men who won't wear trousers until they've proven themselves. That is vitally important!

Hermione J. Granger

.

.

Mother,

This year's crop was pathetic, as usual. Potter and his "friends" are pathetic, as usual. The headmaster is pathetic, as usual. I hope you know what you're doing keeping me here.

Draco.

.

.

Lavender, did you see the tall bloke?  
P

Which tall bloke? Narrow it down.  
L

The one in our house, cream puff. How could you miss him?  
P

Of course, silly. Did you see the new professor?  
L

Don't get me started!  
P

You were getting chummy with Potter, I saw.  
L

I was just being properly pleasant. As in Properly Pleasant Parvati. Haha.  
P

Properly pleasant. Sure. Know what I think?  
L

Very little, I'm sure.  
P

I think-_-_-.

What was that?  
P

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This is your professor. Stop writing notes in my class. You have been warned.

.

.

Hey Dud

I hope you choke.

Harry


	41. 6 A Special Kind of Flyer

**6.5 - A Special Kind of Flyer**

The brisk Scottish air intermingled with the warm updraft that was radiating from the field below. It produced a maelstrom of varying tendrils that caressed Natalie McDonald's skin. She was slightly disappointed that some of the sensation was robbed, even by the somewhat sheer robes she was wearing now. At home, she would often fly in something far more scandalous, but here she had to behave. She idly gyrated in the updraft from the pitch, and the warm air rising past her lifted and swirled her long hair around her. Through trial and error, she had pinpointed a spot just back from mid-pitch as the focal point for the warm currents. Around her, her robes fluttered lightly.

When she closed her eyes, she could see intricate designs on the insides of her eyelids. They swirled and danced to the rhythm that her heartbeat created. The patterns ebbed and flowed smoothly. Under her hands, the Arrow's handle thrummed slowly. She had only brought it out at Hogwarts once or twice before. The majority of the time it sat politely in her single most valuable possession, a broom locker that could hold five brooms and still be a convenient size to strap to the top of her school chest. The Arrow was a temperamental beast; but it hadn't surprised her in a while. Back when she had finished the last of the really big jobs, it had taken her for a proper ride, now and again. Once she found herself over Saskatchewan, dangling from one knee with her hair nearly dragging on the rooftops, and wearing (or not wearing, such as it was) nearly enough to make a proper hand towel.

As she gently drifted in a semi-circle, she picked out the various witches and wizards. She knew a few of them, even though she wasn't exceptionally outgoing. Harry Potter, of course. Everyone knew him. He was staring at something she couldn't see with an expression she also couldn't see. Next to him, Ginny's brother Ron was kicking at something on the ground. She hadn't talked to Ron hardly ever, but Ginny was nice enough. She said _hi_ now and again.

Down by the lake, Owen Cauldwell was chatting up Laura something...Natalie just couldn't remember her name off the tip of her tongue. Owen had done his best to chat Natalie up as well, and there was even some genuine chemistry, but she liked her men a little more fearless. She considered Owen squarely within the realm of _possible, but not likely_.

"You look a bit lonely up here."

Malcolm Baddock wasn't a totally bad sport either, as far as Slytherin house went. Of course, that was a bit like saying he wasn't as painful as most needle-sticks. It was _still _a needle-stick.

"I'm not," she replied, without opening her eyes.

"Lonely?"

"Not a bit."

"Mmm. Well I think I could change your mind."

Natalie studied Malcolm. "If you can catch me, I'll consider changing my mind."

Malcolm smiled. "Promise?"

Natalie leaned into the Arrow, which responded obediently. She wasn't going to open it up any where near all the way. She wouldn't need to. Malcolm was on a Comet.

She started with elementary flying, taking the Arrow nearly straight up the Ravenclaw tower. She purposefully kept it low, though. She didn't want to totally crush Malcolm...that would be mean. Just as important, she didn't want to shatter the tower windows, which she thought she may have been able to manage had she really unwound.

She overshot the tower and leaned back, letting the broom pitch all the way into a back roll and then dive bombed down the other side. For all its strengths, the Arrow did not corner like a modern broom. If it was still moving forward, and the handling was a matter of attitude adjustment, she could handle it like a modern broom. If it was in a full-on deadfall, the smart girl had to give the Arrow time to pull _out_ of the dive. Natalie was a smart girl, and she flew smart.

Also, there was the slim chance that Malcolm and his Comet might implant themselves into the ground. That wouldn't do.

She nosed up and slid around the owelry in a wide arc, letting the broom spin and when she was facing Malcolm, who was still managing to keep up with her, goosed the Arrow. She rumbled over Malcolm's head close enough to hear him gasp, and then let the Arrow free a bit more. She was now approaching what she reckoned to be the Comet's top speed, so she leveled off. She let the broom drift downward and swooped under the bridge. She wrapped around the pillars with a deceptively slinky speed. She had the arrow tuned to accelerate at a rate many reasonable fliers would consider somewhat suicidal, so even though the Comet would almost certainly be able to corner at almost the same velocity, the Arrow could slide through lateral turns and reach a truly hair-raising speed just an instant later. The Comet's cornering speed was very likely its top speed.

Occasionally, she would catch a glimpse of Malcolm, but when she started lacing through the trees and columns he started to lose her, or just as likely, his nerve. She even lapped him several times, and once let the flap of her robe slap him in the face. She eventually shot the Arrow over the lake, where the broom was the most impressive. The cushioning charm, which started further up on the Arrow than on most brooms so as to keep wind buffeting down, interacted with the high velocity and proximity to the lake to create a parabolic arc of spray, which coalesced into a rainbow in her wake. Once she was near the middle of the lake, she leaned back, let the broom do what it did, and rocketed into the sky. She still had something in the piggy bank, but no Comet was ever going to catch her; ever.

"Next time, McDonald!" Malcolm's voice drifted to her from what seemed to be very far away. Natalie waggled the broom and waved delicately. She drifted in a slow spiral to her spot over the pitch. She continued to drift in a lazy circle, dreamily picking out faces she knew and letting the Arrow point her where it would.

Back home, the endless fields of wheat rippled with a rustling sigh and a girl could fly for a whole day hearing nothing but her own thoughts. Here above Hogwarts, such was sadly not the case. It was still peaceful enough, if a girl could shake the punters. And Natalie could always shake the punters.

It was going to take a special kind of flyer to catch her.


	42. 7 The Memories They Deserved

**7.5 - The Memories They Deserved**

Lilly Evens carefully threaded the multi-colored beads onto a bit of twine. She'd worked out a color system...Red for her, green for her friends, blue for anyone else. She hadn't gotten things quite right yet; the memories had a tendency to wander off on their own and do things that never happened, which was interesting in a dramatic sort of way. They were sometimes far-fetched; she'd never wind up with Sirius as long as she lived, yet in one of her test beads he and her had wound up hitched with an entire clutch of admittedly handsome children.

A bit of hair got in her mouth, and she absently spit it out. Someone plopped down next to her and her eyes darted over for just long enough to confirm who it was. It didn't take long. Peter was fairly distinctive. She went back to threading her beads, and Peter pulled a large piece of parchment from his pack. Lilly had enchanted several sheets not to crease...or more specifically, not to hold creases. Folding them was fine, but they wouldn't crease. He opened an expensive-looking case and produced a very special set of pencils. Lilly, James, and Sirius had gone in on them several years ago. Each one had a special enchantment...one would only do straight lines, one would only do curves, one was indelible and one was easily removable, and so on. Peter was a steady hand...he'd drawn one or two pictures she kept tucked into the pages of one of her favorite books, the one she'd carried in her school chest since the second year, when Severus had given it to her. It had been second hand even then, and she hadn't done it any favors, though she'd been able to repair the worst of the wear and tear.

She dropped a bead, and it bounced and danced onto the parchment Peter was drawing on. It looked to be a map of something. Her bead rolled to a stop in the middle of a nameless room. Peter nudged it back to her with the tip of one of his pencils. He smiled a buck-toothed, beady-eyed smile.

"Thanks, Peter," she captured the green bead with vermilion-painted fingernails and held it up to the light. Then she glanced back at Peter. He had gone back to his work. Sometimes he would puff his lank blonde hair out of the way when it fell in his face.

She went back to her bracelet. The beads were on...now she just had to tie the knot on the end. She mentally went through her magical retinue and realized she knew nothing to tie a knot. She fumbled with it for a few minutes before a voice spoke.

"Why don't you give me a go?" Remus sat across from her. Peter had looked up at his voice. "Pete," Remus nodded. Peter smiled, then went back to his work. Lilly pushed her bracelet across the table and Remus took it.

"Isn't it a bad time for you?" Lilly watched him tie off the bracelet. Remus seemed to know something about nearly everything, including, apparently, tying knots.

"Soon. I like to be with you all as long as I can before I get sick." Remus held the bracelet out, and she extended her hand palm up. He placed it carefully in her hand, dwelling on the contact.

She would never even consider that with Peter. He was so desperate for approval that he would get entirely the wrong idea. Sirius, she was certain, had a pair of spectacles specifically charmed to undress her, and James was so absolutely self-assured that he might not even notice it.

Remus, however...she felt a little sorry for Remus. He assiduously refused to have anything beyond friendship with anyone. For their own safety. Plenty of girls would have given him a chance, but he steadfastly refused. Lilly was almost certain that things like that little brush were nearly the only attention or contact of the feminine kind that Remus would even allow.

That wasn't right.

Lilly fingered the beads. She looked over at Peter, who was lost in his work. Drawing was nearly the only thing that could hold his attention and keep his self-doubt at bay. Then she turned to Remus, who had settled down to his Defense work. He was nearly as poor as Severus, and as studious. In another world, she could see the two being good mates. In this world, that would probably never happen. Then she looked back at her bracelet and rolled it experimentally in her fingers. If she ever got this memory thing right, she was going to give everyone the memory they deserved.


	43. 8 Katie Smiles

AN- Mercy me! I forgot! Sorry! Have a good weekend, folks!

**8.5 - Katie Smiles**

Katie Bell walked in a dream state. To be sure, some of that was because of the flying...it always left her feeling a bit jelly-legged. Some of it might have been from the robe rash -the bloody robes had slapped her legs raw in the high wind today- a consequence of not wearing full length undergarments and short boots. That wasn't all of it, however.

She packed her things back in her rucksack and hurried from the common room and through the halls to make it to her study club...something with her friend Corona and the Hufflepuffs. After a quarter hour, she had to stop, get her bearings, and retrace her steps as far as the second floor bathrooms. She had been walking so euphorically, she had literally ignored where she was going, and was nearly to the Ravenclaw tower by the time she stopped.

As she passed a window, she saw someone with long black hair riding a broom...perhaps Natalie. Natalie had talent; Katie had seen that right away.

It was curious how girls could very easily be regarded as quidditch-talented, but they were almost never regarded as quidditch-smart. Out of the whole league, there was but one female coach, and that was on an all-witch team. Even she had only been a coach for a few years, but before her, it had been a bloke, and not even a particularly good one. The team captain had basically run the team with him only occasionally involving himself if something pressing needed fouling.

Katie smacked her lips. As she passed window after window, she watched the-girl-she-was-certain-was-Natalie drop in and out of formation. Even with no one with her and no references for location, it was impeccable; a precise display of quidditch-talent.

In Katie's head, the formations lit up across the sky as Natalie executed them. The myriad of options -and even the defensive responses- were lighting up as well. Katie firmly suspected she possessed quidditch-smarts. She had bided her time with Oliver...not just as a sign of respect, which she certainly had then and was in fact growing now that she was learning all he had done, but as a matter of practicality. A good team might pull something out of a mediocre play. A terrible team had no chance to produce anything but more terrible. And who knows? Ollie's strategies sometimes worked, and Katie took meticulous note of when they did.

She noted the failures, too.

She licked her lips again. The kiss was, to be honest just a kiss. Something to tell her children about, should she ever meet the right wizard. Not everyone had kissed the Boy-who-lived..shockingly few people, actually. Katie was certain she could have parlayed the Girl-who-lived stature into a never-ending parade of eligible wizards.

Before that kiss however, Harry Potter, the Boy-who-lived and all around decent bloke, a wizard with plus quidditch-smarts and excellent quidditch-talent, had told her _she_ had pulled this team together; and with this talented group, that took quidditch-smarts. When one was as good as Natalie, Ginny, Harry, or even Ron -should he live up to his potential- one had to see proof of their captain's vision…one had to see how they (and their talent) fit in, and they had to trust the captain enough to be a team and not just a group of stars. He had, in one breath, managed to burn to death every self-doubt she had been feeling about this year.

Any witch could get a kiss, if she was half-okay. Katie would admit that she was half-okay most days. Realistically, she'd kissed him anyway. That didn't even require one to be half-okay, technically speaking.

Not just any witch could get a compliment like that, though; especially from the youngest seeker in a generation, and a bona fide team-maker like Harry Potter. And that was why Katie smiled.


	44. 9 A Fatal Flaw

**9.5 - A Fatal Flaw  
**

"I asked you a question, Connor. It was not rhetorical. I expect an answer." Connor glared at Ambrose Walken but didn't speak. Walken leaned forward until his nose was only inches away from Connor's. "Are. You. Mad?"

"No!"

"Then explain to me why we have dragged you thousands of miles away for your _own protection_ and you have immediately drawn attention to yourself by initiating a rivalry -and not with just anyone- with _Malfoy_ of all people."

"He's a dick. And I didn't want to come."

Walken took a deep breath. "You'd rather return home?"

"That's not my home."

"Then what is, Connor? You have a chance, albeit a brief one, to have this be a home. And you are treading on thin ice. I went to school with a Malfoy. Let me tell you their game: 'Oh, I'm an evil but helpless git. I shall be a thorn in your arse until you rough me up!' Only they aren't helpless. Not at all. They know how to arrange, Conner...that is their family's greatest gift. They are arrangers. They will never, ever push you a direction they do not want you to go. Young Malfoy has that gift. I can smell it. He is only impatient...brash. Like you. But he has it."

Connor tapped the desk with his wand. "Can I go back to my room, now?"

Walken exploded. "No you cannot bloody well not go back to your room! Last time you were stupid someone found you. Who was it?" Connor rose to go. Walkin spun his wand through the air and Connor froze in mid-step. "_Who was it?_" he screamed. His voice echoed off the blocks.

"Kate. It was Kate. I hate you!"

"It was Kate. Then who followed her?" Walken waited for a few moments. "Who?" he whispered.

"Altasia," Connor wailed. "Why...? Why do you?"

Walken stood in front of Connor's rigid form. "Because you forgot it. Or you ignored it. You need to have discipline. Do you know what discipline is, Connor? It's remembering what you _really_ want. What do you really want?"

"To die."

"That is...sadly understandable. Though I should think what you really want is for Altasia to die. Or perhaps for Kate back." Connor didn't speak. "Mark my words, Connor. If you toy with Malfoy, someone with pay."

Connor huffed. "What did you do to me?"

"I didn't do a thing to you. I did something to the space around you. Sadly, many of the spells I'd like to use on you won't stick." Walken smiled slightly.

After a while, Connor did as well. "Will you let me go now?"

"That depends. Are you going to run off?"

"No," Connor said after a long pause.

Walken raised his wand almost vertical and muttered something under his breath. After a bit, Connor slumped back down.

"What is the story with the Longbottom boy?"

"There is no story. We just get along."

"Are you certain it's wise to cultivate friendships?"

"What am I supposed to do? Not have any? That won't exactly make me blend in!"

"Plenty of students here keep to themselves," Walken observed.

"I won't let anyone get too close."

"That would be wise," Walken agreed. "Between Altasia and Malfoy, the Longbottom boy wouldn't have much of a chance, I'm afraid. He's not much of a wizard, they tell me."

"He's better than everyone thinks."

Walken simply nodded slowly.

Later that evening, Connor sat on his bed, holding the wand he was absolutely not supposed to have. How many times had he imagined running the sharpened tip through his own chest? He'd held it pointy-bits in, resting over his heart a few times. Once he even jabbed himself with it until a bright red pinprick of blood appeared.

In the end, Connor did have one thing going for him: He knew himself well. The same seditious character-flaw that caused him to get in altercations with anyone willing to goad him for a few short moments prevented him from giving in. He was not the type of cat who could cleanly dispatch himself. He was destined to give the universe the finger, insult its parentage, and invite it to "come and get him."

Unfortunately, when the universe did come and get him, it would probably be through every fault of his own, and he wouldn't be alone. Decent wizards would pay just as much as he would. His mouth and attitude had a way of collaborating to write checks of such magnitude that the debt could not be paid by any one man. He liked to think he had excellent restraint and self-control, but the truth was somewhat less charitable, and he knew it.

He'd done it before, and he'd do it again.


	45. 10 Jack Sloper is a Good Bloke

**10.5 - Jack Sloper is a Good Bloke**

Jack Sloper sat on the bench in the great hall and went straight for the roast beef. Somehow, the roast beef was always better here than at home on the farm. It didn't make any sense at all. Andrew sat next to him and upended a plate of _lune argent__é_melon slices onto his plate. Jack could almost see his reflection in the polished silver chunks. It was shinier than it should have been; practically glowing. Maybe the house elves had done something to candy it or something. Regardless, he wasn't eating it. He was a meat and potatoes kind of guy.

Andy was another story. Anything remotely sweet went to the front of the line for him. They ate in silence for a few minutes before Andy spoke without looking at him.

"So then...tonight?"

"About that," Jack toyed with his food. His mum might have given him an earful for that.

"Don't tell me...You lost your nerve. It only works if we both go in at once, Jack!"

"I didn't lose my nerve, Andy."

Andrew set his tableware carefully on his plate and pushed it away. "You promised."

"I didn't either. And besides that, they're just better than us."

"They're the size of elves!"

"Maybe. And that makes it a little sadder," Jack nodded. "I mean, if Cormack, or Dean, or even that big foreign bloke was out there...well, I'd kind of expect them to have a leg around the broom already. Big fellows like that...you've got to think they can put a wallop on a bludger. But the Creeveys? Well, you said it yourself: They're the size of elves and they're _still_ better! Do you know what it takes to for me to admit that?"

Andy turned back to his food. "Just because they can be pretty with the bats..."

"And they can fly faster. And the can hit the bludgers _at _people, which if you didn't notice, _we can't do_. And let's face it, they could be the future of the team. I mean, if you were Katie, who'd you rather play? A few seventh-year sods who have about one decent hit a match, or a few sods with some flashes of talent who'll be here another few years?"

"Maybe-"

"No, Andrew. Don't you get it? We just _aren't that good_. We sometimes manage to block a few, I'll give you that, but we really..." Jack trailed off. He shook his head.

"Mind?" came a voice from behind him. It was Dennis Creevey.

Andrew started to say something but Jack, knowing his friend, cut him off. "As you can see, this is the beater's section!" he waved at the empty spots next to him. Andrew managed a weak smile, and Dennis sat down. "The roast beef is better than anything I've ever had, and we have cows at home. Where's Colin?"

"The house elves upended a pie and it was the spitting image of the Queen," Dennis said. "He stopped to take a photograph! And what kind of cows? My dad's a milkman you know, I know a little about cows!"

"Well, A few Gold Angus and some regular old Highlands."

"Gold Angus! I've never heard of those!"

"Oh, they're huge!" Jack nodded. "Big as twenty wizards...maybe more!"

"Wow!" Dennis breathed.

His brother showed up a second later. "Did you know that berry landed just where her nose should have been? It was as if she was rising through the floor! I though perhaps we were about to get a royal visit!"

"Hey Col! He has _Gold _Angus! Big as 20 men! And highland!"

"What do you do with a Gold Angus? Can you milk it?"

"Well, it's a cow, so yeah. It's not a milk cow, though. They're for eating."

"What about highlands?"

"Meat."

"What do they taste like?"

"Mostly like haggis and whiskey," Jack nodded. Colin and Dennis both exploded in laughter; Dennis sprayed pumpkin juice all the way to the Ravenclaw table. Andrew slammed down his silverware and stormed out of the great hall.

"Is he mad at us?" Dennis squeaked.

"Naw," Jack said, watching him go. "Just doesn't like cows."


End file.
